The Advantages of Belonging
by akamww3
Summary: Now married and parents to a son, Mycroft Holmes and Molly Hooper (Holmes) have already learned the advantages of caring, but experiencing the advantages of belonging will provide a continuing education for them ...
1. Today - It's Today Isn't It

**[Author's Note: The "Belonging" series continues the story of Mycroft and Molly as set forth in "The Advantages of Caring." This first installment commences just after the last "Caring" chapter.]**

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 _Summary: An anniversary, a reconnection, that first time feeling all over again ..._

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At eleven o'clock on that last Monday morning in June, Mycroft Holmes pulled his phone out of his pocket and settled back in his desk chair, frowning when he saw the name on the screen. "Andrew?" His brows rose. "She what?" He sat straighter, checked the time and used his free hand to pull up his diary. "Right." His brow creased as he rang off. _And her co-conspirator would be …_

Mycroft looked up when Anthea opened the door in response to his summons. "Sir?"

"Were you aware that Molly planned to make a surprise visit today?" When Anthea hesitated, silently drumming her fingers on the door's edge, Mycroft flicked a hand toward a chair. Once she'd settled across from him, he raised a brow.

"I arranged access for Molly through the back entrance, sir. It wasn't originally supposed to be _today,"_ she said slowly, then quickly continued when he raised a brow. "She wanted to come in last Wednesday, but you –"

"Had to go to Athens unexpectedly, yes." Mycroft sat back and picked up his pen, turning it between his fingers. "Tell Henderson you'll call him by noon either to confirm our lunch meeting or to reschedule him for three o'clock."

Anthea got to her feet. "Are you going to ask Molly to lunch, sir?"

"Mmm."

"You have to celebrate your anniversary," she said, smiling. "Tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Mmm," he hummed again, pursing his lips as he aligned his pen just so along the edge of his laptop and pulled up the CCTV feed for the rear gate. _"One_ of them," he murmured as the door closed behind Anthea. He then picked up the file he'd been reading when Andrew called and focused on work while waiting to be surprised by his wife.

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When Mrs. Collingwood pulled to a stop at the gates set in a high stone wall, she wasn't alarmed when armed guards appeared on either side of the car. She lowered the window and was prepared to be questioned, but both men simply ducked their heads to peer through the windows toward the backseat. As the housekeeper handed her photo I.D. to the nearest guard, Molly rolled the back window down and the other man bent to her level.

"Good morning, Mrs. Holmes," he said in a clipped military tone.

"Good morning," Molly said, smiling as she reached for her handbag. "Let me get my I.D. for you …"

He glanced at it and returned the card to her. "Thank you, Mrs. Holmes. Your driver is cleared to park near the entrance."

Molly noticed that his eyes went past her to the infant carrier before returning to meet her gaze, and she thought he looked a bit more wide-eyed. She heard the other guard tell Mrs. Collingwood the same thing before he stepped back. Molly waved as the gates opened and they went into the inner courtyard and followed the circular drive. She didn't notice - but wouldn't have been surprised to see - Andrew pass through the checkpoint a few moments later and park near the gates. Molly never raised the issue of her assigned shadow and did her best not to think about the need for him.

Mrs. Collingwood was going to stay in the car with Michael since Molly planned a quick in and out visit. She'd nursed the baby just before they left the house so he could be expected to sleep for another hour or two under normal circumstances. Molly got out of the car and Mrs. Collingwood took her place by Michael's car seat.

"How do I look?"

"Edible," the housekeeper said with a wicked smile.

"Mrs. C," Molly groaned, then rolled her eyes. "What's in those boxes is for sure. All right, I won't be long."

Mrs. Collingwood watched the younger woman smooth her hair and hitch the strap of her handbag higher on her shoulder before reaching for the two small white boxes, each tied with a satin ribbon and bearing a gold-leafed label from one of London's finest patisseries. Molly was wearing an above-the-knee, empire-waist, scoop-necked dress in a red and white floral print that, while modest, was extremely flattering to her postpartum figure, Mrs. Collingwood thought, smiling to herself as she imagined Mycroft's likely reaction, however much he might outwardly suppress it.

Molly was greeted by another pair of armed guards at the back entrance. They eyed the two boxes but didn't take them from her, which Molly knew said a great deal about Anthea's power to authorize access. They let her pass into the building and then Anthea herself was there to escort Molly to Mycroft's office.

As they walked down the corridor, Anthea ran her eyes from Molly's red heels to the top of her head. "You certainly dressed to impress today and succeeded, Molly."

Molly gave Anthea a significant look. "But will _he_ notice? I'd rather he didn't realize how much extra effort this took." Molly rolled her eyes. "Just getting my hair into this supposedly casual half up-do took at least fifteen minutes and then it almost came completely down when Michael's fingers got caught here." She pointed at the hair over one ear.

"What's in the boxes? Or is it a secret -"

"No … _here,_ this is yours," Molly said, passing one of the boxes to Anthea. "Forgive me, but I got you one of those amazing brownies we discovered in April."

"I hate you, Molly."

Molly just laughed. "I couldn't bring Mycroft a brownie and leave you out. I had one earlier, and they're still worth all the extra calories that have to be worked off later." She paused for a moment. "Of course, _I'm_ allowed extra calories these days, what with the breastfeeding and all …"

"Just keep talking, Molly, and I really _will_ hate you." Anthea let them into the office, then stood aside and waved Molly on with a flourish.

Molly gave an Anthea-like tap on Mycroft's door, then opened it and went through. He was turned away, focused on his laptop, and didn't look up until Molly set the bakery box in the middle of his desk. His head turned and he stared at the box for a moment before raising his eyes to hers.

"Molly," he said, quickly getting to his feet and coming around his desk. He gave her a brief kiss, then took her hands and looked at her carefully. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. I just wanted to bring you a treat." Mycroft let go of her hands and stepped back to rest a hip on his desk as he reached for the box she was offering him. Molly sat in the nearest chair and watched him untie the bow and open the flaps. "Mrs. C and I hadn't been away from the house for some days – not since my doctor's appointment last week," she said as an aside while slowly crossing her legs with a swish of silk stockings, "so we went to that Marylebone patisserie for morning tea." Mycroft had lifted the box toward his nose. "Those brownies taste even more delicious than they smell, and have the calories to match, but sometimes we all need a special treat. That chocolate cream cheese icing is to die for." She huffed a laugh when Mycroft looked up. "Oops! Wrong place to joke about that."

"Thank you, my dear. I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

"And do _not_ feel guilty for eating it, Mycroft. You rarely allow yourself to have such treats, so try to enjoy it whole-heartedly for once." Molly uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way, then gave a blissful sigh as she made a circle with her foot. "Feel free to indulge your senses." Re-crossing her legs had caused Molly's skirt to ride up her thigh, exposing a bit of the lace at the top of her hold-ups. When Mycroft's eyes dropped to that slowly twirling red heel and moved up her stockinged leg from ankle to thigh, Molly thought she might have gone too far to be subtle, so she nonchalantly flattened her hand on her skirt and slid it back toward her knee. Or at least in that general direction.

Mycroft's eyes met hers and Molly bit the insides of both cheeks, trying to suppress any outward reaction to the change in his expression. "Well," she said more briskly while slowly bending to retrieve her handbag from the floor by her feet. "I should let you get back to work. Mrs. C is waiting in the car. Michael, too, but he's asleep." _Oh, you brazen hussy,_ she thought as she rose to her feet, knowing her bending forward would have given Mycroft quite an eyeful of her cleavage, assuming he was looking. She hoped he didn't realize she'd put the handbag on the floor for that very purpose – and that he'd attribute her heightened color to having been bent over. "I'll, um, see you later then."

Mycroft closed the box and set it on his desk, then straightened and took the step that brought him within Molly's personal space. He bent to kiss her cheek and then held her gaze while their faces were level. "I was going to ask you to lunch, my dear. We could take Michael with us and send Mrs. C home with the car."

"Thank you for the invitation, but I should get Michael home and let you keep to your schedule, assuming I haven't messed it up too badly. I didn't intend to disrupt your day."

"Not at all," he said, straightening. "Let me at least walk you out." Molly preceded Mycroft through the door and he paused to tell Anthea he would be keeping his appointment as previously scheduled.

"I'll take care of it, sir," Anthea said, then smiled at Molly. "Thanks for the brownie."

"You're welcome – and I expect you to _enjoy_ it, Anthea."

Mycroft kept his hand on the small of Molly's back as they followed the corridor to the back exit, but he stopped and dropped his hand when a familiar voice called from behind them.

 _"_ _Molly?"_

"Hello, Elizabeth," Molly replied when Lady Smallwood reached them. "It's good to see you again."

"You look lovelier than ever, my dear," Lady Smallwood said, kissing Molly's cheeks continental style. "Having a baby obviously agrees with you." She took Molly's hand and looked over her head at Mycroft. "You both seem to be surviving the stress of having a newborn in the house."

"Molly's done all the heavy lifting," he said.

"Don't listen to him. Mycroft's been a _tremendous_ help," Molly assured her, then looked uncertain. "Um, Michael's just outside in the car. Would you like to –"

Lady Smallwood's "I'd love to" was almost drowned out by Mycroft's "I doubt Elizabeth has time to …" He gave them a bow of his head and smiled wryly. "My mistake."

Once they went through security and out to the car, Molly introduced Mrs. Collingwood, who got out to let Lady Smallwood take her place in the back seat. Molly ducked her head in the car to chat while the older woman appropriately oohed and aahed over Michael, who slept through it all.

Mycroft leaned against the car, arms folded and ankles crossed, aware that the guards at the building and gate were on alert, weapons held at the ready, as he stood in the relatively open space talking to Mrs. Collingwood while the other two women visited in the back seat. His cool gaze wandered over the exterior of the building as he considered just how many eyes might be watching them from behind all those rows of reflective glass. He'd never imagined being part of such a scene that would likely elicit curiosity about his personal life. He straightened when Lady Smallwood got out of the car and came to stand in front of him.

"Michael's a fine looking boy, Mycroft. You must be proud."

"I'm pleased that he's healthy and progressing well."

Lady Smallwood allowed herself a not-quite-ladylike snort. "You can admit to feeling proud, Mycroft. The Earth won't tilt further on its axis."

Mycroft smiled briefly, then went to say goodbye to Molly, who'd already settled in the back seat. "I'll see you this evening," he said, bending down to her level. "At a reasonable hour, I hope."

"All right, darling," she said softly, aware of others' ears not too far away, and then buckled her seatbelt when he closed the door.

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Anthea looked up when Mycroft's door opened just before two o'clock and he stepped into the opening. "Would you ask if the Home Secretary can see me now and, if so, change my four o'clock to half past three and move anything else to tomorrow. The other meetings aren't particularly time-sensitive, but let me know if anyone balks at the delay."

"Certainly, sir," Anthea said, picking up the phone. Two minutes later, she went to Mycroft's door to let him know the Home Secretary was expecting him.

Just over two hours later, Mycroft came out of his office after his last meeting, carrying his umbrella and briefcase, and stopped at Anthea's desk. "I'm leaving, Anthea, and suggest you do the same. If anything comes up that needs one or both of us to respond, they'll find us."

Anthea stared at Mycroft, shocked but trying to hide it, then abruptly turned away to shut down her computer and grab her handbag from a drawer. She glanced around, trying to think of anything she needed to do, then picked up her phone, preceded her boss out the door and waited while he locked up. As they walked across the front lobby, Anthea glanced sideways at Mycroft and he caught her at it.

"Don't expect to leave at half past four again this decade, Anthea," he said, with a brief smile. "It just so happens that while all's not quiet in the world, there's at least a certain consistency to the current crises, and you and I have both put in some very long days this last week. So enjoy your evening, and I'll see you in the morning."

Anthea was surprised to find two cars idling by the pavement. She watched as Mycroft got into the one being driven by Andrew, then she greeted Walter and they headed in the opposite direction toward her flat.

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Mycroft stopped outside their open bedroom door, struck by Molly's unconscious allure. The top of her dressing gown had slipped down her arms, baring her shoulders, and the bottom half was open, sides hanging off the chaise longue, exposing her bare legs - one straightened, the other's knee drawn up. A silky slip was bunched at the top of her thighs and he could see the lacy edge of her knickers. Mycroft wasn't prone to being aroused by visual stimuli, but he felt his heart rate increase and his groin tighten and willed himself to calm down.

Molly shifted and it was as if he was observing an artist's presentation of contrasting tableaux – one exquisitely sensual and obviously unintentional on Molly's part, and the other sweetly maternal with mother and child aware of nothing but each other … Michael at Molly's breast, focused on her downturned face. At that moment, she glanced up and started, eyes opening wide. "I wasn't expecting you home so early," she said, then looked down and flushed while pulling the sides of her dressing gown together.

"If the woman I love has a mind to seduce me," he finally said as he started across the room, "I thought it behooved me to do my utmost to cooperate."

Molly felt the flush spread down her chest. She slowly raised her eyes, which widened further as they passed over his middle, then quickly shifted higher to meet his. She opened her lips to speak but what came out sounded something like "guh." Mycroft laughed under his breath, then bent to kiss Molly's forehead, stooped further to kiss Michael's cheek, and finally, after a moment's pause, kissed her breast just above where the baby was nursing. "Mycroft," she breathed shakily and grasped the hem of his jacket. "You're killing me."

"Certainly not," he said as he lowered himself to the edge of the chaise longue. "We have a date if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh _god,"_ she said, closing her eyes and dropping her head against the backrest. He took advantage of her change of position and leaned forward to kiss her clavicle before dragging his mouth up her throat and along her jaw. "The baby -," she gasped.

"Is paying no attention and wouldn't understand or remember anything if he were," he murmured, then feathered his lips back down her throat and gently nipped the muscle at the crook of her neck. He lifted his head when she moaned and studied her face, waiting for her to look at him, then moved in for a kiss, taking it deep when she opened her lips. Molly's free hand lifted to the back of his head to press him closer as they explored each other's mouths.

Molly pulled back when she felt cool air on her exposed nipple and realized Michael had detached and fallen asleep. She slid her fingers out of Mycroft's hair, laid a cloth nappy across her upper chest, and shifted the baby until his head was on her shoulder. Her eyes finally lifted to Mycroft's as she gently patted Michael's back. "This isn't fair. You've caught me unprepared," she said. "I had _plans._ It was going to be _perfect."_

"I can't imagine what more preparation you think you need, my love," he said, lips quirked. "I could hardly be more ready to make love to you than I am right now."

Molly dropped her eyes and had to clear her throat. "You're seducing me again, Mycroft, and it's making me feel like the first time."

"Which was two years ago today," he said, not denying her accusation as he got to his feet. "At least we're in the right place for it now. _You_ used your seductive wiles on me at the office."

"I never touched you," Molly scoffed, but her lips curved when she looked up at him.

"No, you didn't touch me," he said slowly, holding her gaze until she began to flush. "Shall I take him?"

Molly looked confused for a moment at the abrupt change of subject, then lowered her eyes to Michael. "He probably needs changing," she said as Mycroft took the baby from her.

"I'll see to him," he said, straightening.

As soon as they left the room, Molly jumped up and ran across the bedroom to her dressing room, grabbed the lingerie she wanted from a chest of drawers, and hurried into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, trying to slow her breathing and heart rate. _Calm down, be cool._ She quickly stripped and was in and out of the shower in three minutes. A quick rubdown with a towel, favorite moisturizer applied, then she bent to pull on a new lacy, demi-cup nursing bra and tap pants that were more lace than silk, both in a pale raspberry. She turned sideways and frowned at the mirror, popping the elastic waist of the tap pants. They covered most of her stomach below her navel, but she could still see her little pooch. She sighed, then shrugged into a new dressing gown – raspberry, ivory and lilac – and grabbed her brush to smooth her hair.

She looked at herself in the mirror straight on and breathed slowly. She still felt flustered by Mycroft's unexpected arrival as she'd planned for them to have a nice dinner and spend some time talking before going to bed at a reasonably early time. She looked at her bare feet and considered putting on her fluffy feather slippers, but felt wobbly enough without adding a stiletto heel to the mix. Besides, she suspected Mycroft thought her mules looked silly no matter how sexy they might make her feel.

Molly came out of her dressing room and stopped short when her eyes met Mycroft's. He was standing outside his dressing room, jacket folded over his arm, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. After a moment, he tossed both of them on a chair and started across the room, his gaze unwavering. Molly's knees weakened just as his arms snaked around her waist and he drew her into a hard embrace, lips firm and demanding. He pulled back, breath quick and shallow. "We have to slow down."

" _No,"_ she protested, moaning when he claimed her lips again, delving deep, then made her shiver when he slid the tip of his tongue over the roof of her mouth. Her fingers dug into his shoulders when he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. "Wait," she said when he lowered her to her feet. "Um, we'll probably need to use, um –"

"A condom?"

 _"_ _No!"_

"A lubricant?" When Molly blushed, he ran a finger down her nose and tapped her chin. "It's a pretty fair exchange, don't you think? That change in your hormones from breastfeeding also helps prevent another pregnancy." He reached into his trouser pocket and drew out a tube that was familiar to Molly since she'd hidden an identical one under her pillow earlier that afternoon.

Molly raised her eyes to Mycroft's again and he began to unbutton his shirt. When it hung open, she stepped closer, curved her hands around his neck and lifted onto her toes to kiss him, then pulled back and met his eyes. She ran her hands down the sides of his throat, rubbed her fingertips over and around the tight nubs of his nipples, and ruffled his chest hair, tracing the growth pattern with her fingers as it tapered down his torso to a narrow line that continued beneath his trousers. When her head turned downward, he ran his fingers through her hair, and they both watched her undo his belt and carefully lower his zipper. His breathing rate increased and she heard him swallow when she slipped her hand into the open fly of his trousers, pushed his pants out of the way, and encircled his hot, hard length with her fingers. He wrapped his hands around her upper arms to lift her higher against him and claimed her mouth again, and Molly met his demand with her own, clutching his shoulder with her free hand as she stroked him firmly from root to tip and back again with the other. When Mycroft's hands slid down her back, slipped under her knickers and curved under her bottom, Molly thought her knees would buckle, but when he slid his hands around her hips and toward her stomach, she twisted away, pulling her hand out of his trousers and sitting on the side of the bed. She glanced at his face then quickly lowered her eyes at his confused look and reached to grip the sides of his waist and tug him toward her. When she hooked her fingers under the top of his trousers and started to push them down, he covered her hands with his.

"Hold on," he said. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," she said, glancing up with a quick smile. "Let go of my hands." Instead he took a firmer grip and spread their clasped hands wide as he ran his eyes down her torso. "Mycroft," she protested.

"Just a minute," he said, head tilting as he studied her, then he shook his head slowly after several moments and sighed. "Molly …" He lowered their hands, then let go of hers and shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it on the floor. He toed his shoes off and bent to pull off his socks, before straightening again. He held his hands out, palms up, and waited for Molly to place her palms against his, which she did after hesitating for a few moments. He then pulled her to her feet. "Let's try this again," he said, slipping his hands under the waist of her tap pants. She shied away when his hands moved toward the front. "Ah." Molly flushed when their eyes met and Mycroft sighed. "I'm sure it sounds unsuitably patronizing for me to say this, my darling Molly, but I find your little tummy quite irresistible." She lowered her gaze shyly, but did huff a soft laugh, so he tried again. He felt her stomach muscles tighten, but she didn't flinch when he cupped a hand over the soft remnant of her pregnancy bump. She sighed and rested her forehead against his chest as his fingers lightly stroked her belly, but her muscles tightened again and she gripped the sides of his hips when his fingers edged lower.

Molly tilted her head back in surprise when Mycroft abruptly removed his hand and stepped away from her, then she flushed when he pulled the tube out of his pocket, shoved his trousers and pants down his legs, and stepped out of them. Molly's eyes lowered to his hands as he flipped the cap open and applied the contents to his fingers. When his hand started moving toward his cock, she held her hand out, "Let me, please."

Mycroft handed her the tube and Molly met his eyes, aware that her face was probably bright red, but she held his gaze as she squeezed lube onto her palm, tossed the tube toward the bed and took him in her hand, wrapped her fingers around him and slicked him down from root to tip. His breathing deepened and he stiffened further, then he suddenly grunted and wrapped his fingers around her wrist before gently but firmly pulling her hand away from him. "Too much."

He brushed past her and sat on the side of the bed, then hooked his fingers in the waist of her tap pants and raised his brows. When Molly nodded, he slid them over her hips and let them fall to the floor. When she kicked them aside, he pulled her closer and lifted her onto his lap, slipping a hand between her knees and running it along her inner thighs as he began kissing her. She slid her arms around his neck and moaned when he curved his palm between her legs, gently separating her folds with slick fingers and probing more deeply with one finger, then two. Molly parted her legs further and pressed up against his hand, suddenly feeling desperate for more, and she put that desperation into her kiss, rubbing her tongue more urgently along his, until she broke away, panting. "Now, Mycroft … please."

His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as he stared at her, his breathing quick and shallow, and the danger suppressed in that look sent a sizzling jolt straight to her core. She stared back, wide-eyed, feeling both thrilled and helpless as he seemed to loom over her, then gasped when he pulled his hand away, slipped it under her knees and rose to his feet before swinging her around and lowering her to the bed. He crawled over her on all fours and stretched out beside her before sliding his arm under her back and lifting her to lie across his chest. "You need to be on top so you can control the depth and pace," he said calmly, at odds with the heated expression in his eyes and the hammering of his heart.

Molly braced herself on her forearms and pushed herself up. "No, I want to feel your weight on me," she said, then licked a stripe over the nub of his left nipple. "You don't have to be so careful." She slowly smiled and raised her brows when he continued to stare at her. "Come on, Mycr-" Molly gasped when he wrapped his hands around her head and almost slammed their mouths together, then moaned when he rubbed his tongue along hers and they began to thrust and parry in a deliciously decadent duel. They finally broke away to breathe, and he shifted and then rolled them until she was stretched out under him. He raised up on his knees, slid his hand between her legs to check her readiness, then smiled when she drew her knees up and let them fall open. He withdrew his hand, positioned himself carefully, and slid slowly into her, not stopping until he reached the hilt, then carefully stretched his legs out. Molly wrapped her legs around his hips, and they lay there pressed against each other for some time, Mycroft's quick breaths against her throat causing shivers to ripple through her and Molly's low gasps tickling his ear. She eventually slid one foot higher on his back and tilted her hips to a more comfortable angle. Mycroft lifted himself onto his arms and slowly withdrew, studying her face as he thrust deep, then slid away, then pushed into her again. When she showed no sign of discomfort, he began to thrust at a slow, steady pace, still watching Molly to deduce her reactions.

Molly finally had enough of that and huffed loudly as she pushed against his shoulders. _"Stop!"_ He did stop and held himself above her on straightened arms, which pressed him more deeply into her. The pleasure of it made Molly shudder. "Mycroft … I _love_ you," she said, somewhat breathlessly, "and I _love_ that you're trying to take care of me by being careful, but, for _god's_ sake, would you please just let go?" She sighed again as he slowly withdrew ... "you're driving me _mad -" …_ and screamed when he drove into her to the hilt, pulled almost all the way out, then forcefully drove into her again, quickening to a pounding rhythm, his flesh audibly slapping against hers. She pressed her heels against his hips, writhing against him as she raised herself into his thrusts, grunting from the effort, then suddenly clutched at his shoulders when he abruptly stopped again, his pelvis pressing hard against hers, and … "Wha - oh, _no,_ Mycroft …" He'd run his palms along her sides and under her back and the next thing she knew he'd released her bra, maneuvered it off of her, and bent his head to her breasts. "You really don't want to do that –" Before she could stop him, he'd licked across one nipple and gently pinched the other between his finger and thumb, and the inevitable occurred. Molly let go of his shoulders and dropped her head on the pillow, laughing breathlessly when Mycroft raised his head with a jerk and stared at her as her milk let down and started leaking down her torso. "And _that's_ why the nursing bra needs to stay on," she said drily, pointing a shaking finger toward the bedside table. "Hand me that towel, please." Her breath caught when he pulled out of her, and she released a long exasperated sigh as he crawled across the bed. "This better not turn you off, Mister Holmes, or you're going to have a very frustrated wife to deal with."

He crawled back and bent over her, gently wiping her torso, until she took the towel from him and pressed it hard against her breasts. "Pressure helps stop the flow," she said. When Mycroft carefully pried her hand away from one breast and folded the towel back, she half sat, shocked at what immediately went through her mind. "What are you _doing?"_ She caught her breath and held it when he lowered his head and took her nipple between his lips, then opened his mouth wide enough to cover her areola. "Mycroft?" His eyes lifted to hers, asking a question, and she closed hers with a nod, not sure if it was the hottest thing Mycroft had ever done to her or if it was a bit pervy. Maybe both, but Mycroft didn't _do_ pervy. Molly dropped her head back on the pillow and kept her eyes closed. She knew he could feel her heart pounding while he did what he did, but he raised his head after just a few moments.

"It tastes sweeter than I expected," he said, covering her breast again with the towel and then firmly pressing his palm against it. His head tilted as he studied her face for several silent moments. "Molly?" She opened her eyes and met his gaze, still saying nothing. "Have _I_ now put _you_ off?"

Molly sighed and lifted a hand to cup his cheek. "No, very much to the contrary, but …," she came to an awkward halt, brow creased.

"But nothing," he said, easily following her train of thought. "There's nothing wrong with my tasting your milk. I was curious." He paused, then raised a brow. "Weren't you? Haven't you tasted it?"

Molly flushed. "Well, yes, I did taste it after my real milk first came in. Despite thousands and thousands of years of women nursing their babies, I still found it difficult to believe that _my_ body could actually produce milk, seemingly out of the blue. So, yes, I was curious … and surprised that it actually tastes like milk." Her eyes met his hesitantly, but after a few moments they smiled at each other, then Molly's grin widened. "So, do you want to taste it again?"

"Not right now," he said, lips quirking. "But thank you." He leaned over to kiss her, gently at first, then briefly delving deeper when her lips parted. "Are you ready to continue?"

"You're still in the mood?" She gasped when he took her hand and pressed it against him. "Oh, um, yes," she murmured, wrapping her fingers around his erection, "me, too."

Even so, Mycroft ran a hand down the center of her body and cupped her with his hand, fingers gently probing, before he shifted between her thighs, slid his hands under her bottom and tilted her hips to rest on his knees. He carefully aligned himself and pressed forward until he was fully seated within her, then slowly pulled back before pressing forward again and moving into a steady rhythm. After several minutes, he braced his hands against the mattress on either side of her shoulders and added more force to his thrusts, lifting higher into her, and eventually slid his hand between them, catching sensitive flesh between his fingers and gently rolling and tugging until Molly suddenly clenched around him, her torso heaving as she arched her head back and moaned loudly, gasping for breath. Mycroft pulled his hand free and planted both hands on the mattress again, grunting as he drove deep, then thrust again, then again, and groaned from his gut with the next thrust, feeling as if the top of his head was going to split as an orgasm jolted through him and he erupted, pouring himself into her, muscles quivering from the aftershocks. He was breathing raggedly and ready to collapse, but kept holding most of his weight off of Molly until she wrapped her arms and legs around him and pulled. He finally lowered himself onto her and rested his head alongside hers on her pillow while their breathing and heart rates gradually returned to normal.

Molly felt him slip out of her as she straightened her legs and slid her hands down his back to rest on either side of his waist. She didn't want to let him go, but her skin eventually started to itch as what had been wet started to dry. "I need a shower," she said, sleepily kissing his cheek.

He straightened his arms and lifted off of her with an audible sucking sound as their flesh separated. He looked from his chest to her breasts. "We _both_ need a shower." Mycroft's eyes met Molly's and she, as expected, flushed. His lips quirked and he gave her a quick kiss before pushing back onto his knees and moving to the side of the bed. He groaned when he stood, bending backward as he pressed his fists into the small of his back, then finally reached for the baby monitor. "Come on, then." He waited while Molly shifted to the side of the bed and then snorted a laugh when she echoed his groan. "I'll give you a rubdown if you'll return the favor."

"You're on," she said, slinging her arm around his waist as they headed for his bathroom on somewhat shaky legs.

When they finished their shower and returned to the bedroom in their dressing gowns, Molly set the monitor on the bedside table and checked the time on her phone. It was still a few minutes before seven and they'd heard no sounds from the monitor, but she decided to check on Michael anyway. Mycroft was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard when she returned. "Michael's still sound asleep," she said, crawling onto the bed to sit beside him. When Mycroft wrapped his arm around her back, she signed and leaned her head against his chest. "I didn't expect you to get home until seven at the earliest so I thought we'd be eating about half past or later." She lifted her head to look at him. "Do you want to wait or …"

"I'm certainly not hungry now," he said. "What about you?"

Molly shook her head, smiling. "Did you eat the brownie?"

"I did."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"I followed your instructions to the letter."

Molly huffed a laugh and nestled her head against his chest again. "Good."

They were quiet after that, and Molly started to feel drowsy enough that she jumped when Mycroft cleared his throat, which caused him to laugh under his breath. When she tilted her head back to frown at him, Mycroft dutifully straightened his face, then lifted his hand to cup her cheek and turn her face more fully to him. "Happy anniversary, Molly," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

"Do you mean today's or tomorrow's …," she murmured, returning his kiss.

"Today's – the sex anniversary," he clarified, lips quirking. "We'll celebrate the wedding anniversary tomorrow."

"Will there still be sex involved?"

"Very likely."

"Oh goody," Molly said, wrinkling her nose at him, then squealed when Mycroft suddenly pounced and rolled them over ... then over again … until they were stretched out along the opposite edge of the bed with Mycroft looking down at her.

"We could get a head start on it," he said, lowering his head to nuzzle her neck.

Molly wiggled under him, laughing. "But Michael will be waking up soon."

"Then we'll stop and start again later," he murmured against her throat, causing a quiver to run up her spine.

"I just hope Michael's timing is as good as his father's …"

"Shut up, my love, and kiss me."

"Yes sir, Mr. Holmes, sir – _mppfft …"_


	2. It's Hardly Your Usual Kind Of Puzzle

_Summary: A brief visit with the Holmes family on a late summer evening ..._

#####

"This is basically legwork, you know."

 _"_ _Hmm."_

"It's sort of like breaking in a new agent … helping him get his feet wet … holding his hand on his first mission."

 _"_ _Hmm."_

"Definitely below your paygrade."

An exasperated sigh replaced the seemingly absent-minded humming.

"Of course, you _do_ get to flash your pert bottom at me."

 _"_ _Molly,"_ the naked Mycroft finally said, rolling his eyes as he stepped out of the shower after checking the water's temperature and changing the showerhead's setting to a gentle rain. "Just give him to me."

"Be good for your daddy and don't do anything to alarm him," Molly said in swiftly shifting tones of voice and with exaggerated facial expressions as Michael stared fixedly at her, then she kissed the baby's forehead and handed him over. She watched as Mycroft held Michael against his chest, skin to skin, supporting the baby's head with one hand and cupping his little bottom with the other. "I know Michael loves his baths, but he may not like the shower."

"He'll be fine, Molly," Mycroft assured her as he stepped sideways, keeping his back between the baby and the stream of water, then cocked his head so he could see Michael's face. The baby's eyes suddenly widened when the warm water sprinkled over him, but he looked happy enough. Mycroft's eyes lifted to Molly's as he added, drily, "We can take it from here, _M."_

Molly wrinkled her nose at his flippancy, then hovered for several moments after shutting the shower door. "All right … I'll be back in a few minutes."

Taking three-and-a-half-months-old Michael into the shower was less for the purpose of bathing than to see how he reacted. Mycroft gently ran a soft, soap-free flannel over the baby's back and legs and then partially turned to let water trickle more freely over him. Michael briefly lifted his head, then rubbed his face against his father's chest – and suddenly sneezed as the chest hair tickled his nose. Mycroft huffed a laugh and turned away from the water stream again, talking continually to Michael while carefully turning him around to be back to chest. When Mycroft ran the flannel over the baby's torso and limbs, Michael waved his arms and legs and batted at the water with a closed fist. Mycroft again partially turned into the water flow, the baby made a gurgling noise, and then … "Michael, my boy," Mycroft said wryly, "your mummy would tell you peeing in the shower is definitely not a done thing."

"Nope, his mummy's not particularly bothered by that," Molly said, slowly opening the shower door. "Are you finished?" She leaned into the shower, carefully avoiding the water, and waited until she caught the baby's eyes. "Wasn't that fun, sweetie?" she asked excitedly. Michael cooed back at her, legs and arms waving in excitement, and gave her a gummy smile. "He's smiling, Mycroft," she said, returning the baby's smile with a goofy one of her own.

Molly moved away from the shower door to get a soft, dry towel to wrap the baby in. Mycroft kept a secure grip on Michael until the transfer to Molly was completed, then shut the door and changed the showerhead's setting to a harder spray to finish his own wash.

Molly carefully dried Michael, put on his nappy and got him dressed for bed, then gently dabbed his hair dry with another towel before carrying him across the hall. She pulled down the room-darkening shades to block the bright sunlight that was still streaming through the windows at almost eight o'clock that late-August evening.

Once they'd settled in the rocking chair, Molly pulled up her T-shirt and lowered the left cup of her nursing bra. Molly was trying to establish a bedtime routine for Michael so she softly talked and sang while he nursed to keep him awake until she put him in his cot. When he was finished, she read to him from a large picture book of nursery rhymes and he played with his fingers and occasionally babbled back at her. Mycroft came in while she was still reading and sat in the club chair beside them. About ten minutes later, Michael was looking drowsy so Molly rose to her feet, held him out to Mycroft for a goodnight kiss, then kissed his cheek herself and placed him on his back in the cot. They hovered over the cot for several minutes, but Michael surprisingly drifted off to sleep without any fuss.

Molly raised her eyebrows at Mycroft, then picked up the baby monitor, quietly left the room, and headed downstairs with Mycroft following close behind. After they finished eating supper, Mycroft took the monitor with him to the study, and Molly went upstairs to have a leisurely soak in her tub. An hour later, she appeared at the study door, still flushed from her bath, wearing a short, loose, cotton-knit chemise because of the evening's warmth … and certainly _not_ because Mycroft could see the outline of her figure through the thin white material. Molly's flush darkened as his gaze slowly moved from her feet and up her body until their eyes met.

"I'm going to bed," Molly said, then cleared her throat as she rubbed the bottom of one bare foot over the top of the other. "Will you be working much longer?"

Mycroft was shutting down his laptop before she finished asking the question.

#####

"This is definitely legwork."

 _"_ _Mmmm."_

"It's exhibiting physical endurance … showing a willingness to go under covers … to lie back and think of England."

 _"_ _Mmmm."_

"Definitely taking one for Queen and Country."

A ragged gasp replaced the moaning.

"Of course, you did get to flash your pert bottom at me."

 _"_ _Mycroft!"_ Molly said, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she wrapped her legs more tightly around him. "Shut up and _kiss_ me."

"Oh at the very least." Mycroft's mouth quickly covered Molly's, brushing the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips before slipping between them. As the kiss deepened, he ran his hands up the back of her thighs and hitched her legs higher to increase the tilt of her hips.

"Oh _god,_ Mycroft," Molly gasped when their lips finally parted and he nibbled his way down her neck. "You're absolutely _brilliant_ at legwork."

"I can still rise to the occasion when the situation calls for it," Mycroft murmured against the hollow of her throat, then slowly smiled when Molly simply laughed under her breath and pulled him closer.


	3. A Necessary Evil

_Summary: It was just a stupid accident ..._

#####

The sudden shock of pain was overwhelming for the moment. Molly couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't comfort a whimpering Michael. All she could do was continue to lie face-down on the hard pavement and hope that her attempts to draw air into her lungs would soon relieve the temporary paralysis of her diaphragm. In the meantime, she tried to take stock of the situation – most importantly, she believed the baby was perfectly safe in the pram and simply fussing because he couldn't see her. The pain in her head would surely be no more than the temporary result of her forehead hitting the hard surface and the sharp stinging of her face simply from scrapes caused by its thin flesh doing the same. Burning palms, ditto.

 _Breathe, Molly. Calm, slow breaths. In through your mouth. Try to expand your lungs. Relieve the spasm. Don't try to move too quickly. Be patient for a few minutes._

Molly's attempt to breathe properly was interrupted by a spurt of panic when a strange hand came to rest on her back and someone crouched next to her, but then she focused on the sound of the voice.

 _"_ _Mrs. Holmes!"_ A sharp intake of breath. _"Are you all right, Mrs. Holmes?"_

She knew that voice. A man. Who was it … _Andrew._

 _"_ _The … ba … by,"_ she said breathlessly. _"Check … on … Mi … chael."_

The hand left her back and she heard the scrape of Andrew's shoe against the pavement as he got to his feet. Michael continued to fuss, but she heard Andrew talking to him, telling him his mother was all right, that they were going to help her and would get him home soon. If she'd had the breath, Molly would have smiled at hearing one of Mycroft's agents talk to the baby as if he were an adult.

Molly winced as she pulled her hands closer and set her sore palms on the pavement beside her shoulders. When she started to press herself up, Andrew curved his hands under her sides, then paused. "Are you sure you should move, Mrs. Holmes?"

"Help … me up … please."

Andrew still hesitated, but when Molly's muscles tensed and she raised herself enough to clear the surface of the pavement, his hands tightened and he lifted slowly and steadily until she was sitting on her calves. He kept hold of her when she rested her hands on her thighs and pushed against them to straighten her back, then he dropped to his knees beside her. Molly glanced at him briefly before again looking at the pram. She could see Michael's feet kicking and he wasn't fussing any longer.

"Is the … baby … all right?"

Andrew glanced at the pram, then his eyes returned to her face. "He seems fine to me, Mrs. Holmes. But your face …"

Molly's eyes met his as she raised a hand to her forehead. She winced when her fingers touched the abraded skin, then she lowered her eyes to her hand and studied the blood on her fingers. She looked at Andrew again. "Is it … bad?"

His gaze moved around her face, then the corners of his lips finally turned up. "I've seen much worse, but I've seen multiple gunshot wounds."

"Don't … joke … Andrew," she said. "You're … as bad as … I am." She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing for a couple of minutes, and Andrew silently waited beside her. Molly finally took a deep breath and held it, then slowly released the breath through her nose. "I'm all right," she said in a more normal tone, then held out a hand. "Help me up, please."

Andrew got to his feet, then slipped both hands under Molly's underarms and carefully lifted her in stages, first to her knees, then more slowly to her feet. He kept hold of her upper arms until he was sure she had her balance. "Do you feel dizzy? Does your chest hurt?"

"My face and palms hurt," Molly said, grinning wryly. "Oh _ow_ … that hurt, too." She pressed her hands to her stomach and ribs and sternum and, after flicking a gaze at Andrew, brushed them over her breasts. "I don't think I've done any damage elsewhere except some bruising, perhaps." Molly looked at her palms, which had bled a little but mostly the skin was roughened by surface scrapes and grit from the pavement. "It was just a stupid accident," she said. "I was walking too fast, tripped and fell flat, and knocked my wind out. I'm just thankful I didn't upset the pram and injure Michael."

She took the two steps to the pram, limping a bit, and bent toward Michael, waiting for his eyes to focus on her face. "I'm sorry for scaring you, sweetie," Molly said softly, brushing his cheek with the clean tip of a finger. She smiled at him despite the resulting stretch of scraped skin, and after a moment the baby gave her a gummy smile in return and waved his fists.

"We need to get you to the nearest A and E," Andrew said, pulling his phone from a pocket as he turned aside.

"I am _not_ going to hospital, Andrew," Molly said evenly, looking up. "I can take care of these scrapes at home." She straightened and took a step toward him. "Who are you calling? _Andrew?"_

The agent ignored her raised voice and moved farther away, talking softly. When Molly's hand grabbed his arm, he turned toward her, frowning. "She says she's fine, sir."

"Is that Mycroft?" Molly huffed in annoyance. "Give me the phone." Her fingers tightened on his arm and she held the other hand out, scraped palm facing up. "Andrew … if that's my husband, _give me the phone … now!"_

Andrew's eyes met hers, then rose to her forehead. "Yes, sir," he said quietly before handing the phone to her.

"Mycroft –"

"Subdural hematoma, Molly," Mycroft said sharply, as he left his building and crossed the pavement toward Walter and the car. "You've heard of it?"

"Mycroft –"

"You hit your head on the pavement, did you not?"

"Yes, but –"

"Snow, Molly," he said evenly, meeting Walter's eyes in the rearview mirror and signaling for him to go with a lift of his chin. "People have hit their heads even on snow-covered ground with unexpectedly serious consequences."

"I know that, Mycroft," Molly said calmly. "I also know what symptoms are cause for concern." She paused, then sighed. "How about I call John –"

"He doesn't have the equipment –"

"At his clinic, I mean," she broke in. "I'll call him right away."

Mycroft didn't respond for several moments, and Molly could only imagine his frustration at being unable to take immediate control of the situation. "All right," he said, sounding resigned. "But promise me –"

"If I have any reason whatsoever to suspect a problem, I'll go to A and E at once," she insisted. "I promise." She listened for a few moments and bit her lip. "All right, I'll call you later." Molly rang off and handed the phone to Andrew, then took hold of the pram to reverse its direction.

"The car's just –"

"It's not far to the house. We can walk." Molly looked past Andrew and saw the black car idling, illegally, just meters away. "How did you –" She stopped when she realized someone was sitting in the driver's seat and turned to Andrew. "There are _two_ of you?" She looked more closely at Andrew and abruptly noticed his informal clothing. "Do you always follow me when I go for a walk in the park?"

Andrew looked away from Molly and sighed. "You need to talk to Mr. Holmes about that."

Molly suppressed her own sigh at the thought of having that long-delayed conversation, then changed the subject. "Michael's supposed to ride in a car seat."

"I can assure you, Mrs. Holmes, that no one would stop us for not having one," Andrew said as they reached the car. "However," he continued as he popped open the boot, "the point is moot."

"I don't believe it," Molly said as he removed a car seat identical to Michael's at home. "You must prepare for _any_ circumstance."

"We try to, Mrs. Holmes," he said, opening the car's back door. "Shall we?"

When Michael was settled in the car seat and Andrew had stowed the pram in the boot, Molly called John and learned he was indeed working at the clinic that morning. "Thanks, John. We'll be there shortly."

#####

Molly hissed as John carefully rinsed her right palm under the stream of cold water. "Sorry," he said. "I know it stings, but we need to get the grit out." John had already cleaned and treated her forehead and covered it with a fast-healing dressing and cleaned a few minor scratches on her nose and chin. He'd also gone through a list of questions and checked for signs of concussion or any other hidden injuries. They both looked up at the sound of three quick raps on the door, and Molly wasn't surprised when her husband strolled in. John's glance went from Mycroft to Molly and back again. "Mycroft."

"Good morning, John," Mycroft said, studying Molly carefully as he crossed the room to stand beside her and lightly rest his hand between her shoulder blades. "How's our patient doing?"

"Molly's lost some skin, but it'll grow back," John said, giving Molly a lopsided smile as he gently cleaned her palm. "She's going to be stiff and sore for a while, but she should be fine in a week or two."

Mycroft's fingers massaged a small circle on Molly's back before he dropped his hand, hung his umbrella over the back of a chair, and stooped to release Michael from the infant carrier that was placed on the floor. He straightened holding Michael high on his chest, and Molly smiled when the baby lurched forward and mashed his face against Mycroft's cheek. Mycroft seemed unfazed and simply slid his hand higher to support Michael's back. "You don't think Molly needs a scan?" When the baby poked two fingers into his father's mouth, Mycroft gently removed them, kissed the little hand, and let the baby wrap his fingers around Mycroft's forefinger.

"Not unless she gets a headache that worsens, has changes to her vision, shows signs of being confused …," John continued going through symptoms of a possible subdural hematoma as he finished dressing her right palm, then had Molly put her left one under the running water. By the time he'd finished cleaning and dressing that hand and given instructions for changing the dressings, Michael had started fussing despite Mycroft's attempts to distract him.

"He's probably getting hungry," Molly said, "and he may need changing, but I don't have the baby's bag."

"I can help you with a nappy at least," John said, smiling. "Back in a sec."

When John left the room, Mycroft moved to stand in front of Molly where she was sitting on the examination table and shifted his hold on Michael to free one of his hands. Mycroft cupped the side of Molly's neck and tilted her head back with his thumb, then studied her face closely. "I know you're sore and the abrasions sting, but are you sure you're all right otherwise?"

"Don't worry … I'll be fine," she said, lifting a hand to cover his without thinking, then pulled her hand back and frowned at it. "These dressings are going to be aggravating."

Mycroft brushed his thumb back and forth over Molly's throat, then kissed her when she looked up. John arrived at the open door and quickly stepped sideways to remain in the corridor. He paused a moment, cleared his throat before walking in, then had to suppress a grin. Mycroft was now standing by the window, nonchalantly pointing something out to the baby, while Molly coolly met John's gaze just as if Mycroft's tongue hadn't been in her mouth a few seconds before. When Mycroft turned from the window, John wasn't quite as impressed by _his_ unruffled expression since Mycroft was a long-time expert at concealing any emotions. But then Mycroft crossed the room to accept the nappy, wipes and soft cloth with a quick thank you, carried Michael to the settee, and changed the baby's nappy very efficiently – which _did_ impress John. Molly had told John and Mary that Mycroft was helpful with such practical matters, but they'd had difficulty imagining it.

#####

"You don't have to come home with me," Molly told Mycroft in a low voice as they stood beside the car that had been driven to the clinic by Walter. She looked at Andrew standing by the other car and suddenly realized she hadn't really seen the driver other than the back of his head. She could see the shape of him through the windscreen but no details because of the glare from the surprisingly bright mid-September sunshine.

"It won't take long," Mycroft said as he opened the car door and lifted the infant carrier onto the seat. Once he'd buckled the belt, he backed out and helped Molly climb into the car, then he rounded the boot and got in on the other side.

Molly met Walter's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Sorry for the unexpected side trip."

The corners of the driver's eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "I'm just sorry you were injured, Mrs. Holmes."

Molly huffed in exasperation and included both men in her eye roll. "I hardly think my scrapes merit this much fuss." When Michael made a cooing noise, she leaned over the car seat to tickle his chin, then looked up at Mycroft under her brows. "It's ridiculous and embarrassing considering the severity of injuries you've dealt with – and no doubt _caused_ – over the years."

"I don't know what you mean, my dear," Mycroft said smoothly, then turned to look out the window, suppressing his amusement when Molly snorted.

#####

Mrs. Collingwood met them at the front door, hovering as Mycroft ushered Molly into the house with a hand on her back while carrying Michael in his car seat with the other. "Are you all right, Miss Molly?"

"It's just some scrapes, Mrs. C," Molly said. "I had a clumsy fall in the park and certain … _men_ rather over-reacted."

"Molly hit her head on the pavement," Mycroft said calmly.

The housekeeper met Mycroft's eyes with a brief nod, then stood back as the other three started up the stairs. "Would you like to eat while you're here, Mr. Mycroft? I have lunch about ready."

He looked back at her as they reached the landing. "Thank you. I'll just get Molly settled first."

Michael had begun to fuss in the car and his occasional mewling had changed to crying by the time they reached the bedroom. Molly went straight to the chaise longue, carefully stretched out on it, and then lifted her jumper. Mycroft had been right behind her and bent to open the nursing bra for her before stooping further to unbuckle Michael from the car seat. Once the transfer was made and Molly settled Michael at her breast, the silence was immediate … like turning off a tap ... until the slow, rhythmic sounds of the baby's suckling became audible.

Molly sighed tiredly as she rested her head on the backrest and lifted her gaze to Mycroft's. "Thank you for seeing us home, Mycroft, but you really don't need to stay. Go have some lunch so you can get back to the office. I know you must have been busy when Andrew called."

"You're going to be stiff after sitting for a while," he said, running his eyes over her.

"Michael will be ready for a nap after he finishes nursing so I'll eat lunch then and take a walk afterwards to loosen my muscles," she said, then quickly added when that crease appeared between his brows, "… with Mrs. C in the back garden." When he kept studying her, she gave an exasperated snort. "I'm fine, Mycroft. Go eat your lunch. _Please."_

Mycroft finally pulled his hands from his trouser pockets and stooped to kiss her. "I'm counting on you to take care of yourself."

"I will," she said, smiling up at him when he straightened. "Now _go!"_

#####

"Mycroft …," Molly began, hesitantly, late that night.

Mycroft rolled his head on the pillow to look at her. "Yes?" When she continued to stare silently at the ceiling, he shifted to his side and raised himself onto his elbow so he could see her face in the glow of the bedside lamp. "What is it, my dear?"

"Andrew."

"What about Andrew?"

Molly turned her head to meet Mycroft's eyes. "Is he my bodyguard?"

"No."

"Does he always follow me on my walks?"

"No," he said calmly, then sighed when Molly pressed her lips into a thin line. _"Andrew_ doesn't always follow you – sometimes it's someone else. And technically they don't _follow_ you … they keep watch covertly from enough distance to allow you privacy."

"Mycroft –"

"Is that truly a surprise, my dear?"

"And those times when I've driven you somewhere or when you've driven us? Are we being shadowed?"

"Molly –"

"Does letting me drive because I enjoy it put more stress on your security arrangements?"

Mycroft finally broke eye contact and rolled onto his back with a sigh. "I don't want you to feel hemmed in, Molly. I want you to feel free to come and go as you please," he said, then turned his head to look at her before adding, "… within reason. I regret having to place any limitations on your movements, but I hadn't thought you found them restrictive."

"Those I knew about, you mean." Mycroft didn't respond to that. "I don't know how the Treasury agrees to budget for –"

"The government doesn't, or not entirely," he broke in. "Recent unfortunate incidents mean Sherlock's high surveillance status these days is due as much to the government's security interest in his activities as to his relationship with me. As for you, Michael and my parents, a certain level of security is provided for as an extension of mine."

"And you personally make up any difference."

"The cost isn't an issue," he said lightly. "And despite my deserved reputation for cold-heartedness, I find members of my usual security detail keen to put in extra shifts off-duty." He lifted onto his elbow again and met her eyes as he reached to cup her cheek with his free hand. "Can we leave it at that? Will it worry you to not know more about our security arrangements?"

Molly stared at him for several moments, then lifted a bandaged hand to cover his. "What can I do to make it easier for you?"

"You're doing just fine, my love," he said, giving her a warm smile.

Molly returned the smile, then shook her head. "I may not like all the security requirements but I understand that they're necessary. No, I _mean_ it, Mycroft – what can I do?"

"Well, you _do_ have a tendency to drive too fast."

"I've got better about that!"

 _"_ _Hmm."_

"Mycroft …"

"There's one thing, but you may not like it …"

 _"_ _What?"_

"We have a driving course for protection operatives that focuses on defensive driving, situational, security and threat awareness," Mycroft paused when Molly suddenly sat up and stared at him wide-eyed, then he continued, "car control at high speeds, skid avoidance and control, counter-surveillance ..." He paused again and raised his eyebrows. "Of course you'd have to drive a range of vehicles on the test track, probably high performance cars –" He broke off, laughing, when Molly shrieked his name and launched herself at him despite her bandages.

Molly finally sat back up, flushed and grinning. "May I? Truly?"

"If you like."

 _"_ _When?"_

"Your hands and face will need to heal," he observed.

"That won't take long," she assured him.

 _"_ _Hmm._ For now, you need to lie down and get some sleep," he said. "Michael will be wanting you in a few hours."

"How can I sleep with the thought of possibly driving a Lamborghini around a track?"

"It might be a Ferrari instead ... or more likely a Bentley."

 _"_ _Mycroft!"_

"Oh for god's sake," Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. "Don't make me regret the offer." He huffed a laugh under his breath at how quickly Molly stretched out beside him. "Good … now try to go to sleep," he said, leaning over to give her a kiss.

"I love you, Mycroft."

"Cupboard love," he said, sighing dramatically.

Molly snorted as she nestled more closely against him. "You idiot."


	4. You Got Yourself In Deep There

_Summary: The new family grows ever closer ..._

#####

 _First Saturday in October …_

Molly Hooper Holmes stared intently into those beautiful steel blue eyes and smiled widely in encouragement. "Come on, sweetie … just a little more … if you'd just let go – _all right!"_

She scooted forward on her belly to hover face-to-face over Michael, who was looking wide-eyed at finding himself so abruptly on his back. She smothered the baby's face with kisses and blew a raspberry on his tummy, causing him to chortle with laughter. Michael had been rolling from back to tummy at unexpected times for two weeks or so, but Molly had now used his favorite toy to entice him into rolling in reverse order. "You're such a _clever_ boy," she crooned, then blew a raspberry on his neck, causing him to wave his arms and kick his legs.

Molly pushed herself up on her knees then sat back on her calves. "Can you roll onto your tummy now?" She grabbed the teddy bear and rubbed it against Michael's chest, then made the bear dance in the air before putting it on the floor where he could see but not quite reach it. Michael stared at Gilbert for a few moments, then looked back at Molly with that mini-Mycroft crease between his brows. Molly then rhythmically shook a plastic bottle filled with dried beans and placed it beside the bear. Michael stared at the bottle, forehead wrinkled and lips poked out, then the next moment he rolled onto his tummy and reached for Gilbert and mashed his face against the teddy bear with a gurgling chuckle.

Molly laughed with Michael, well-satisfied with the day's results. Their playtime sessions had become a morning and afternoon routine, usually carried out on a thick blanket on the floor of the music room. Molly was determined to give Michael as much one-on-one attention as possible before the end of her maternity leave. As the weeks had passed and the periods he was awake lengthened, the baby had appeared to watch everything she did and started to mimic her expressions. Molly had kept encouraging him to copy her movements as well, so when Michael first lay on his stomach, Molly had done it before him. When he was strong enough to lift his head, Molly had first lain close beside him, face-to-face, so he could see her lifting her own head. She had been elated when he first raised his head enough to clear the floor, but when he first lifted his shoulders off the floor as well and used his arms for support, it was a great milestone … and his surprised expression as he looked around the room had made Molly laugh.

Molly's wandering attention snapped back to Michael when he rubbed his face against the bear, then abruptly rolled onto his back again. He gurgled a laugh at Molly's deliberately dramatic gasps and exuberant praise. When Michael suddenly let go of the bear and instead grabbed his toes and stared at them in fascination, Molly quickly pulled her phone out of her pocket and took a photo – and then another one when he looked straight at her with a sweet grin, showing off the white tips of the two bottom teeth which had come through the week before.

"You know you're adorable, don't you," she said, grinning back at him. "I'm sending these to Grandma and Grandpa right now." Just after the text went through, Molly heard the front door open and glanced at the time … half past three. "Your daddy's work didn't take as long as he thought it would," she said, raising her brows at Michael and smiling as she got to her feet. She picked Michael up and carefully placed him on the mat attached to the play gym, then left him batting at a squeaky frog as she crossed the room … and almost ran into Mycroft when she went through the door.

Mycroft felt the tension in his neck and shoulders start to ease when Molly smiled brightly and pressed her body flush against him, murmuring a breathy hello as she wrapped her arms around his back. Mycroft slid a hand through Molly's hair, then gently tugged on her ponytail to tilt her head until their eyes met. He slowly smiled and bent to kiss her, at first softly without any pressure, then deeper when her lips parted and she strained higher onto her toes. They finally broke apart when Michael squealed … in excitement, they found, at having caused the toy giraffe to bounce around on the play gym.

Mycroft looked at the various other toys Molly had set out, then bent to pick up two of the plastic bottles – one containing rice and the other pasta. "Shake them," she said, grinning when Mycroft did so and lifted his chin in acknowledgment. She picked up the bottle with the beans and gave it a shake. "Michael seems fascinated by the different sounds they make."

Despite being in a suit, Mycroft crouched beside the baby and reached over him to squeeze the giraffe, which squeaked shrilly. Michael waved his fists in the air, then turned his head and saw his father, which made him kick his feet and wave his arms even more enthusiastically. Mycroft carefully slid his hands beneath Michael's nape and bottom to lift him off the mat, then got to his feet and settled the baby high against his chest. Molly laughed when Michael flapped a hand against Mycroft's right cheek just before mashing his face against the other. The baby didn't have great control of his head or his finer motor skills, but he seemed to know what he wanted.

As usual, Molly suppressed any outward reaction to Mycroft's casual acceptance of Michael's drooly "kisses," but it never failed to make her feel positively _mushy_ with sentiment. "We haven't done our dancing yet," she observed, arching a brow. "I don't suppose _you-"_

"You 'don't suppose' correctly," Mycroft agreed drily. "I'll leave the dancing to you."

"Would you like to choose the music?"

"That infernal pop music of yours all sounds the same," he said, grimacing.

Molly huffed a laugh, knowing he knew she also played classical music. "Oh, don't try that stick-in-the-mud act with me, buster. I happen to know you actually _like_ some of it."

"Nonsense," Mycroft said mildly, then transferred Michael to her and checked his pocket watch. He pursed his lips for a few moments and lifted his eyes to hers. "Would you like to go for a walk? Is there time before Michael's nap?"

"Yes, please – and it won't matter if he falls asleep in the pram," she said lightly, hiding her surprise at the offer. "You go change your clothes and I'll get Michael ready." Mycroft and Molly had often taken walks in Regent's Park on Saturday afternoons during her pregnancy – his work and the weather permitting - but this would be the first time since the baby's birth.

The three of them went upstairs together, then separated in the hall outside their bedrooms. Molly continued to Michael's room, quickly changed his nappy, and put a light hoodie and some baby boots on him. The two of them returned downstairs and on to the sitting room where Molly had left her trainers, then went to get the pram from the storage room by the kitchen. They were ready and waiting at the front door when Mycroft came down a few minutes later.

#####

"There," Molly pointed, then waited while Mycroft carefully studied the pavement and grassy areas on either side, before turning back to her with a crease between his brows. "I _told_ you it was just a stupid accident. There's nothing here to have caused me to go splat." The abrasions on Molly's face and hands from a fall two weeks earlier had mostly healed and there hadn't been any complications from her head hitting the pavement.

Molly watched Michael as she jiggled the handle of the pram, causing it to bounce a bit, and the baby reacted with his usual enthusiasm. Simply put, Molly thought as she watched his limbs flail about, Michael was a very happy and healthy baby who obviously enjoyed activities that stimulated his senses, but he also enjoyed their quiet time. Breastfeeding was still his sole source of nutrition, and he was thriving on it. Michael now nursed for longer periods, four or five times a day, but she would begin offering him solid food in about six weeks and Molly was bracing herself for the change. She knew Michael might start to self-wean at that point, but, as with everything to do with breastfeeding for them, the process would be baby-led.

Molly started and turned to look at Mycroft when he touched her back. "Are you all right, my dear?"

Molly huffed a laugh and started walking again. "Just thinking about breastfeeding."

"Should I ask?"

Molly glanced at Mycroft, smiling at his dry tone, then turned back to watch where she was walking. _No more falls,_ she thought. "I was wondering how Michael will react to solid foods next month – if he'll start to wean himself." She looked at Mycroft again and sighed. "Never mind. Whatever happens, happens. It's up to him."

Mycroft put his arm around her shoulders, then brought them to a stop. "Molly –"

She leaned her head against the side of his chest for a moment, then sighed and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "Watch it, darling – this is verging on a public display." She smiled, then straightened, hoping he hadn't noticed the tears suddenly blurring her vision. "Come on, we have a hill to tackle … if you feel up to it, that is," she teased, giving him a sidelong glance.

"I'm game," he said, "but you better let me take Michael on the way down."

Molly gasped dramatically and stopped to stare at him wide-eyed. "Mycroft Holmes pushing a _pram?_ What if someone you know _sees_ you?" When Mycroft gave her a withering look, Molly laughed and bumped his arm with her head. "Primrose Hill it is then."

#####

 _Third Tuesday in October …_

More than a month after Mycroft first offered the special treat, the day Molly had been eagerly anticipating finally arrived. Plans had been confirmed the prior evening, and Molly, Mrs. Collingwood and a sleeping Michael were with Walter on the M1 at half past six on their way to Bedford.

At half past one, Mycroft's phone vibrated while he was in a meeting. He continued Lady Smallwood's preliminary security briefing on an upcoming trip, but his attention had momentarily wandered and she noticed. "Do you need to get that, Mycroft?"

"No," he replied calmly, "please go on."

Lady Smallwood continued to question Mycroft about the conference, but paused when his phone vibrated again. She pointedly lifted a brow. Mycroft sighed and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, glanced at the screen, then smoothly rose to his feet. "Excuse me, Catherine." Once he was in a quiet alcove off the hall outside her office, Mycroft returned the call. "Walter?"

"There's no problem, sir," his driver said, "but I thought you'd like to know Mrs. Holmes decided to stay for the late afternoon session." He paused before continuing, "She's taken to everything even more … _keenly_ than you expected, especially the evasive maneuvers."

Mycroft raised his eyes to the decorative ceiling, suppressing a sigh, but then a flicker of amusement passed over his face. "And Jeremy?"

"He's as determinedly stoical as ever," Walter replied wryly, and Mycroft's lips twitched at the thought of the retired operative having to deal with a cheerily gung-ho client who also happened to be the wife of his former boss. "We should be back by eight at the latest."

"Good man," Mycroft said and was about to ring off when … "Was there something else?"

"Mrs. Holmes saw the course schedule for tomorrow and she asked me about, um …"

Mycroft's brow creased and his lids dropped closed as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Surely not the ramming drills."

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft suppressed another sigh. "I'll deal with it. Thanks, Walter."

#####

Mycroft let himself into the house just before nine that evening, hung his umbrella on its hook, and stood in the front hall, head tilted, listening carefully, then continued down the hall, glancing in the music and sitting rooms as he passed by them. He left his briefcase in the study, then headed for the kitchen, which was also empty. He heard rustling noises coming from the laundry room, then Mrs. Collingwood walked into the kitchen and stopped abruptly when she saw him.

"I didn't hear you come in, Mr. Mycroft," she said, smiling over her shoulder as she walked toward the sink. "I just made tea. Would you like a cup?"

Mycroft returned the smile as he dropped onto a stool at the island. "Thanks, Mrs. C." He watched her dry her hands, then cleared his throat. "You shouldn't be here this late. I understand you had a longer day out than anticipated."

The housekeeper recognized the underlying concern in his matter-of-fact tone and bit her lip before turning around with another smile. "We all had a wonderful time," she said, then took him his tea before returning for hers. "The baby certainly took an interest in all the comings and goings." She gave Mycroft another smile as she sat on a stool across from him. "Michael was surprisingly unruffled by the strange people and surroundings, Mr. Mycroft. The center's director had set aside a small office for our use, and Michael kept to his nursing and nap schedule without a whimper."

Mycroft lifted his chin and nodded, then took a sip of tea. "His easy-going nature obviously comes from Molly," he said wryly, "unless it skipped a generation and came straight from my father."

Mrs. Collingwood huffed a laugh. "Mr. Holmes is certainly remarkably forbearing."

"He's needed to be to survive life with the rest of my family," Mycroft said, rising to his feet after finishing his tea. "You should go home, Mrs. C."

"What about your dinner, Mr. Mycroft? Miss Molly ate earlier, of course, but I can have yours warmed up in a jiffy."

"I'll reheat it later," he said. "Go on now. We'll see you in the morning."

The housekeeper nodded, then cleared her throat. "By the way, Mr. Mycroft," she said, deadpan, "I fear Miss Molly now regrets her chosen career path."

"Indeed," he said with a quirk of his lips. "From what I've heard, she'd like to have given Lewis Hamilton a run for his money."

Once upstairs, Mycroft quietly let himself into Michael's room, hovered over the cot for a few moments watching the baby sleep, and then went across the hall to their bedroom, stopping just inside the door. There was no sign of Molly, so he stepped into her dressing room and called her name, waiting for her invitation before entering the bathroom. He paused for a moment, glancing around when he didn't immediately see her. He gaze stopped on the infinity tub as a small wave of water sloshed over the edge and was immediately followed by Molly's head emerging from underwater … _rather like a mermaid_ , he thought fancifully. She raised her hands to slick her hair back, then folded her arms on the tub's edge and smiled at him. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft strolled across the room, then slid his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I hear you've had an eventful day, Mrs. Holmes."

Molly hummed happily in agreement. "I've had a _fantastic_ day," she said, holding his gaze as she pushed away from the side of the extra-large, extra-deep tub. "Would you, um, like to help make it even better?"

Mycroft glanced at the baby monitor, then raised his brows. "How long before Michael wakes up?"

"He just went down at half past seven so probably about eleven."

Mycroft pulled his hands from his pockets and braced them on the side of the tub as he bent to give her a quick kiss. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said and soon returned in his dressing gown. He shrugged out of it and gingerly lowered himself into the warm water, then leaned back and looked at Molly who was facing him from the other end of the tub. The water completely covered her shoulders and all he could see clearly from that angle was her head and throat. He released a long breath, then rested his arms along the tub's edges and stretched out his legs. "So tell me about your fantastic day," he said, prodding her thigh with a toe.

Molly tilted her head and studied his expression for several moments before gripping the sides of the tub to lift herself up. She knee-walked toward Mycroft, carefully straddling his legs, and finally sat on his thighs. He arched an eyebrow but otherwise his expression didn't change when she slid her arms over his shoulders and leaned closer until the tips of her breasts brushed his chest and they were face-to-face.

"I learned to drive very fast in reverse and did lots of J turns." She held his eyes as she slowly smoothed her palms down his chest and curved her fingers around his ribs. "Have you ever done a J turn?" He lifted his chin in acknowledgment. "What about a handbrake turn?" He nodded again. "So … what's the most important thing about doing a handbrake turn?" When Mycroft pursed his lips thoughtfully, Molly slid her right hand down his stomach and wrapped her fingers around his penis, which stiffened further at her touch. "Being sure to keep the button depressed," she said, holding his eyes as she answered her own question and slid her hand up his hard length to press her thumb over its tip. Mycroft drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth when Molly brushed the pad of her thumb over highly sensitive flesh. She did it again, then slid her hand back down, tightened her fingers around the thickest part of him and, after lifting onto her knees, slowly rubbed him against her entrance. "I spent quite a lot of time handling that handbrake," she said huskily as she took him into her, then slid her hand up his chest and around his neck and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "and every time I slid my hand up that hard length, I thought of you." Mycroft curved his hands around the sides of her hips when she sat up. "The instructor must have wondered why my face was so red," she added, smiling as she lifted herself several inches, then sank back down. _"Mmm."_

 _"_ _Mmm_ … I do hope," Mycroft said a bit breathlessly as he tightened his grip on her hips, "that you paid attention to Jeremy's instructions, my dear."

"I must have done since I aced the turns," she quipped, then groaned as she began to ride him in earnest.

#####

 _First Monday in November …_

Molly felt guilty for laughing when that mini-Mycroft crease appeared between Michael's brows. The baby had reached the stage where anything he had in his hands went straight to his mouth, even if that meant hitting himself in the face with it. Just now he'd smacked himself with a squeaky bunny rattle, then given Molly an accusing look as if she'd done it to him.

Molly carefully removed the rattle from Michael's fist, then bent to nuzzle his neck. When he gurgled at her, she slipped her hand under his back and raised him to a sitting position. She kept hold of him as she used her free hand to separate his legs into a wide V-shape, then lifted her hand far enough to allow him to sit on his own. He made it for three seconds before wobbling and starting to tilt backwards. Molly huffed a laugh and pressed him back up. "Very good, sweetie," she said, meeting his bright eyes with hers. "Let's try again."

They spent ten minutes working on Michael's sitting skills, then switched to tummy time. The more time he spent lifting his head and shoulders off the floor, the stronger his neck muscles got and the better he could control his head. Molly looked up when she heard footsteps in the hall, then her brow creased at Mrs. Collingwood's expression when she appeared at the open door. "Is everything all right?"

"I just wanted to have a word after you've put Michael down for his nap," Mrs. Collingwood said, waving a hand. "There's no hurry."

"We can talk now if Michael won't be too much of a distraction," Molly offered, seeing how the housekeeper twisted her hands together in contrast to her dismissive tone of voice. "Have a seat, Mrs. C, and tell me what's wrong." While Mrs. Collingwood settled on one of the sofas, Molly settled Michael on the mat of his play gym and gave the toy dog a squeak before rising to her feet.

"It's my son – or rather Sam," she said. "Richie doesn't think Sam will be able to get off work for the whole two weeks."

"I thought Sam hasn't used all his holiday allowance this year," Molly said, frowning. "Didn't you tell me he was still due almost three weeks?"

"He is, but his boss told him being off over both Christmas and New Year's put too much of a hardship on the other staff."

Molly snorted. She and Mycroft were sending Mrs. Collingwood, her son and son-in-law to Sydney to spend Christmas with her other son and his family. They'd offered the trip to the housekeeper back in July to allow plenty of time for her family members to schedule time off. "I'm sure Sam is a great A&E nurse, but it's not like the administrator wasn't given plenty of time to take him off the year-end rota." Molly patted Mrs. Collingwood's arm. "Don't worry, Mrs. C. Let me talk to Mycroft."

"I don't want you two bothered with my concerns –"

"We are _not_ going to let your trip to Sydney be spoiled," Molly broke in. "Even if Richie agreed to go without Sam, all of you would be unhappy. Leave it with us."

#####

When Molly put Michael down for a nap after he finished nursing, she checked the time and crossed the hall to her bedroom and called Anthea. After their initial greetings, Molly got straight to the point. "Is this a bad time to talk to Mycroft?"

"Hold on – he's just leaving for a meeting," Anthea said.

 _"_ _Don't stop him!"_ Molly huffed when she heard their muffled voices and realized Anthea had already covered the phone.

"I caught him for you."

"I didn't want to disrupt his schedule," Molly said, exasperated.

"He was leaving a few minutes early," Anthea assured her. "Now stop wasting time. He should be calling you any –

"Bye! That's him," Molly rang off to take Mycroft's call. "I'm so sorry for interrupting -"

He broke in. "It's all right, my dear, but I don't have long. What is it?"

"It's about Sam. You know, Sam is -"

"Richie's husband, yes. What about him?"

"He was told yesterday that he can't take the full two weeks off. Mrs. C is quite upset, but didn't want to bother us – ""

"Sam's at St. Thomas'?"

"Yes."

"Leave it with me," he said.

Molly grinned when he rang off without saying goodbye. That break in his usual good manners meant he'd been in a real hurry, but still took time to talk to her.

#####

 _First Saturday in November …_

"I've often wondered what the two of you get up to on your own," Mycroft remarked from the sitting room door, not trying to disguise his amusement.

Molly had straightened with a jerk and quickly turned at his first word. She adjusted her jumper and glanced down at Michael before facing that gleam in her husband's eyes again. "This is supposed to help him get ready to crawl," she explained rather feebly, a hand indicating the flattened cardboard box on which she'd been pulling the baby around on his tummy. "When he kicks his feet and moves his arms, he sometimes makes contact with the floor and that's supposed to give him the idea of how to move on his own."

 _"_ _Hmm."_

Molly flushed and shrugged awkwardly. "It may look silly, but I believe these things work."

"I'm sure they do," Mycroft said, as he came into the room. He studied her expression for a few moments, then tucked some stray hair behind her ear and bent to kiss her. "You're doing a wonderful job with Michael, my dear. Never doubt that I'm fully aware of how much time and effort you give him." He tapped her chin with his forefinger. "And you've been solely responsible for feeding him all this time."

"Not for much longer," she said, lowering her head.

Mycroft laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed the crown of her head, then slid his hands down her back and pulled her against him. "Don't cry," he said, feeling it coming on.

"I'm not," she said, then spoiled the effect by sniffing.

Mycroft rested his chin on her head and sighed. "You said Michael should start on solid food after six months and that you needed to prepare him to accept an occasional 'emergency' bottle once you return to work."

"I know, and it's all right," she said, lifting a shoulder. "The time's just gone by so quickly." She slid her arms around his waist and settled more comfortably against him. "Don't mind me."

Mycroft pulled back to look at her. "You don't have to return to Barts if you've had second thoughts."

"Second, third and fourth," she admitted. "No, I _do_ want to go back to work, but I also wish I could be here with Michael all the time." She shook her head. "Just the same dilemma faced by most working mothers – and some fathers, too. We can't be in two places at the same time. Besides, I'm luckier than most. I've had all this time with him without any worries about the loss of income, plus I still don't have to go back full-time until January."

Mike Stamford had agreed to Molly returning to work on a part-time basis for the last six weeks of the year, saying he'd be happy to have her back under any circumstances. She knew that was an exaggeration, but had much appreciated his understanding her desire to delay the return to a full-time work schedule.

Mycroft gave her a quick kiss, then stepped back and checked his pocket watch. He'd been working at home most of the morning, but needed to handle some business with the PM in person. "I have a lunch meeting at Downing Street, but should be back mid-afternoon."

"Do give Charlie my love," Molly said facetiously. She'd met Charles Hadley and his wife the previous year at Lady Smallwood's and had been unimpressed to say the least.

Mycroft snorted, then stooped to tickle Michael under the chin. The baby had rolled over while his parents were talking and now flailed all four limbs in excitement at his father's attention. Mycroft scooped Michael off the floor and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before transferring him to Molly. "See you later."

#####

 _The next day …_

Mycroft and Molly were settled into their usual corners of the sitting room sofa mid-morning Sunday. Molly finished reading an interview with the star of a new West End musical and folded her newspaper. When she wiggled her toes where they were tucked under Mycroft's thigh, he dropped the corner of his paper and looked at her, arching a brow. "Mycroft …"

At Molly's tentative tone, he lowered the paper to his lap to give her his full attention. "What is it?"

"I was thinking Michael and I might go down to The Cottage for the week," she said. "Your work has obviously been more stressful lately and without us here you could feel free to give it your full focus."

Molly had leaned over to toss her paper onto the coffee table, so missed Mycroft's initial reaction. By the time she turned back to him, Mycroft had schooled his features into a more pleasant expression. "Mummy and Dad would certainly be happy to have you visit them," he said lightly, "but don't feel you should go away on my behalf. You and Michael don't interfere with my work."

Molly scooted down the sofa on her bottom to sit facing him with legs folded under her. "I didn't mean to imply that you think we're a hindrance, but you don't seem to focus single-mindedly on work the way you used to," she said. "You have to admit we can be a distraction."

"Not an unwanted distraction," he said.

"I know," she said, giving him a smile. "It's all right, though? I thought I'd call Mummy before they take their afternoon nap."

"That's fine, my dear," he said, picking up his paper. "Why don't you call her now."

"Good idea," she said, swinging her legs off the sofa and reaching for the baby monitor. Mycroft continued staring at the open door for several moments after Molly passed through it, then turned back to his paper.

When Mycroft left his dressing room late that night, Molly was sitting with her knees drawn up and her back resting against several pillows placed between her and the headboard while she updated their NFP chart. She raised her eyes and smiled when he sat on the side of the bed. "The timing of this trip is perfect. I should be ovulating Tuesday so that means only a couple of days of condoms this month."

"You know I don't mind using a condom if it means you don't have to restart the pill."

"I know, but you have to admit sex feels better without them."

"True," he said, holding a hand out for the notebook. He slipped it into the drawer of the night table before standing to remove his dressing gown. Mycroft had been relieved to leave the detailed NFP record-keeping to Molly. They'd met with a Natural Family Planning specialist a month after Michael's birth and had so far made do with condoms alone to augment the natural pregnancy-preventive effects of full-time breastfeeding. There was still a small risk of pregnancy but they'd accepted it to keep Molly off chemical contraceptives.

Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed again and looked at Molly. When she started to shift away from the headboard to lie down, he put a staying hand on her thigh. She raised her brows, but said nothing as Mycroft got onto the bed and shifted on his knees until he was facing her, then lowered himself to sit on his calves. Molly stared at him, feeling her heart rate increase at the intent look in his eyes. When he finally leaned forward to kiss her, Molly lifted her arms to encircle his shoulders and pulled him closer as she settled against the pillows. Mycroft pulled away when the kiss deepened and sat back again to look at her, and Molly dropped her arms, leaving her hands resting on her thighs. He obviously had a plan, so she waited silently.

After a few moments, Mycroft hooked his thumbs under the spaghetti straps of Molly's chemise and at her nod carefully maneuvered them down her arms until the slip dropped to her waist. He arched a brow at her, waiting until she lifted her bottom, then tugged the slip over her hips and out from under her before tossing it on the floor. He met her eyes briefly, then slowly lowered his gaze to her nursing bra and further to her lacy knickers. He leaned forward again and caught the top edge of them between thumbs and forefingers, and Molly again lifted her bottom so he could pull them down her legs and over her feet. Molly felt the warmth of the flush spread over her face and down her throat when his eyes met hers, then couldn't quite suppress a gasp when he wrapped his hands around her knees and tugged her lower on the bed. Molly's eyes followed his hand when Mycroft reached for his pillow, then she flushed more deeply when he motioned for her to lift herself again. She closed her eyes when he used one hand to lift her higher while arranging the pillow under her with his free hand.

Molly kept eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed once again by Mycroft's methodical approach to such an intimate act, then started when he put his hands between her knees and lifted and spread them before lowering her feet to rest flat on the mattress. When he lifted his hands away without saying anything, she raised her lids enough to peek at him, then squeezed them shut at the sight of him studying the arrangement of her body.

"Are you comfortable like this?"

Mycroft's low murmur caused a quiver to race through Molly, leaving goose pimples that raised the fine hairs on her nape and arms. _"Hmm."_

"Is this position comfortable, my dear?" he asked again but in a more normal tone of voice. "Is it putting a strain on your back?"

Molly suddenly understood that Mycroft wanted her to assume an active role instead of lying back and accepting whatever he might do. She licked her lips and swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat, then forced herself to open her eyes. "Um, it's fine … comfortable, I mean."

Mycroft's lips quirked at Molly's blush, but widened into a warm smile when she made herself hold his eyes. He lifted himself onto all fours before stretching out his legs and bracing his upper body on his forearms … then without any more preliminaries, he slipped both hands under her bottom and dipped his head between her thighs.

From the angle at which Molly was propped against the headboard, she could see Mycroft's face and had to shut her eyes when he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth after licking a long stripe along the center of her core. She tilted her head back against the headboard so she couldn't see him – _them_ \- but tried to show her active involvement by pushing against the mattress with her feet to offer herself more fully to him and carding her fingers through his hair to hold his head against her. She stopped trying to suppress her moans when his tongue delved deep, twisting and flicking and laving, seemingly determined to taste every bit of flesh he could reach. When he used the edge of his teeth on her and brought his fingers into play, Molly cried out and thought she couldn't take anymore. Until Mycroft showed her she could.

#####

 _At The Cottage …_

Molly looked out the car window to see where they were as she forced herself to stop thinking about the night before. She rolled her head against the back of the seat and looked down at Michael, smiling to see him sleeping so peacefully. She hesitated when she met Andrew's gaze in the rearview mirror, then smiled briefly before turning to look out the window again. She'd immediately agreed to Andrew driving them to Surrey since Michael would have been in the backseat by himself if she drove. Molly could have asked Mrs. Collingwood to join them, but didn't want to leave Mycroft to fend for himself.

Molly's thoughts again turned to Sunday night and she flushed, thinking of what they'd done to each other once she'd recovered from Mycroft's attentions – and how they'd turned to each other again early that morning … although not at such length. When they'd finally separated and headed for their respective dressing rooms, Molly had collapsed on the padded bench in front of her vanity table and stared at her reflection in the mirror, blushing when she met her _own_ eyes. She could only hope she hadn't appeared as gauche as she'd felt when she entered the kitchen after bathing and dressing. She could hardly meet Mycroft's eyes and then felt hot and tongue-tied when Mrs. Collingwood offered her a cup of tea.

Molly sat up straighter when they passed through the village. After a few more miles Andrew turned onto the lane leading to The Cottage, and two minutes later they turned onto the long drive that rose gently until it widened at the house. Andrew parked by Violet's car, then opened the car door. "Do you want me to carry Michael in the car seat, Mrs. Holmes?"

"Thank you, Andrew, but I'll take him," Molly said, smiling at him. "If you'll bring the luggage …"

"Of course, Mrs. Holmes."

Molly shifted to drop her feet to the ground. "Andrew?"

He walked around from the boot to stand in front of her. "Ma'am?"

 _"_ _Jeez,_ Andrew …. Could we leave _that_ moniker for the Queen?" When his brow creased, Molly sighed. "I don't suppose you would call me Molly."

"That wouldn't be –

"Appropriate … right. What about 'Miss Molly' like Mrs. Collingwood?"

"If you'd prefer that, Mrs. Holmes."

Molly suppressed an eye roll. "Never mind, Andrew." She swung her legs back into the car and unbuckled the baby's car seat so she could turn it sideways. Michael was still sleeping, but roused when Molly lifted him out of the carrier and settled him against her shoulder. Andrew came to stand by the door, and Molly handed him her handbag and the baby's bag before scooting to the edge of the seat and rising to her feet ... just in time to smile at Violet and Siger as they came around the corner of the house.

"We were upstairs and didn't hear you arrive," Violet said, bending to kiss Molly's cheek, then shifting until she could see Michael's face. "Did he sleep the whole way?"

"Yes, so he should be ready to play with you and Siger," Molly said, grinning at her father-in-law when he straightened after kissing her temple. "How are you, Dad?"

"Fine, just fine, my dear," he said, with his usual kind smile. "And all the better at having you and the baby here."

"Come on, then …," Violet said briskly, "why are we standing out here?"

Molly glanced at Andrew, who was staring after Violet. "Come on, Andrew … why are we standing out here?" The agent looked at Molly and forgot himself enough to grin at her echoing Violet's words and tone.

After he brought their things into the house, Andrew turned down a cup of tea and vanished to wherever Mycroft's agents/drivers/bodyguards normally disappeared. Molly was aware that the large, detached, barnlike garage contained living quarters and a CCTV monitoring setup used in Mycroft's normal security arrangements for his parents, and the more beefed-up detail put in place during his visits, but Molly didn't know any specifics, nor did she want to know. It was difficult enough not to dwell on the _concept_ of being watched – or _watched over_ – without facing what the reality of it entailed.

The rest of the morning went by quickly as the grandparents took part in Michael's playtime with gusto. Siger even got on the floor with him and took a turn with the play gym, much to Michael's delight and the women's amusement - and Mycroft's as well, going by his quick reply to the photo she texted him.

 _Do remind Dad he actually has to get back up. MH_

 _Dad says mind your own business - or words to that effect. xox MHH_

While Violet finished preparing lunch, Molly nursed Michael, and Siger went upstairs to set up the mini-cot. After they ate and cleaned up the kitchen, everyone retreated to their rooms for a nap.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Everything Michael did was entertaining to Violet and Siger so Molly pretty much let them take charge of his afternoon playtime, just occasionally offering a suggestion for activities from her place on the sofa. At half past four, Molly left them to it and went to the kitchen, assuming responsibility for preparing their afternoon tea while Violet was distracted by the baby.

By the time Molly took Michael upstairs at half past six and then returned to the sitting room after going through his usual bedtime routine, Violet and Siger were both in their chairs, ostensibly reading, but they'd actually dozed off behind their reading glasses. Molly grinned at them affectionately and quietly settled in the corner of the sofa with her own book.

Tuesday continued much the same as the day before, with Violet and Siger eager for as much hands-on time with Michael as possible. Molly stepped back to a certain extent, letting her in-laws take the lead with both fun and practical activities, knowing the time was soon coming when she'd have to let others take charge of Michael's care while she worked. It was easy emotionally to allow his grandparents to care for him since they did so with love, as well as experience, and she enjoyed watching them interact. Otherwise, his routine was unchanged - sleeping, nursing, playing, nursing, sleeping, nursing, playing, nursing, sleeping … and that carried over through most of Wednesday.

#####

 _Wednesday evening …_

"Mrs. C … Is everything all right?"

"I think so, Miss Molly, but –"

"But what?" The housekeeper didn't answer immediately. "But what? Is Mycroft okay?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have called."

 _"_ _Tell_ me - what's wrong?"

The housekeeper sighed. "We thought you should know –"

"We?"

"Walter and I," she clarified. "Mr. Mycroft seems to be avoiding the house, Miss Molly."

"You know he sometimes stays round-the-clock at work when there's some sort of crisis going on."

"Walter told me Mr. Mycroft slept at the Diogenes the past two nights," she said, then sighed again. "I've only seen him when he came home yesterday morning to bathe and pick up a change of clothes."

"The Diogenes is more convenient to his office."

"A difference of ten minutes at most," Mrs. Collingwood said. "Do you really think that would keep Mr. Mycroft away from his own bed?"

Molly turned toward her parents-in-law without answering. They were both staring at her, wearing almost identical concerned expressions. "I'll be home tomorrow, Mrs. C, but don't tell Mycroft. All right?" Once they'd rung off, Molly went to sit across from Violet and Siger. "I'm sorry to cut the visit short, but I think Mycroft needs me at home."

Violet looked surprised. "Did he say so?"

"No, he _didn't,_ and that has to change," Molly said, "whether Mycroft likes it or not."

Violet frowned. "I don't understand."

"Nor do I entirely, but he's stayed away from the house, and Mrs. C and Walter think it's because Michael and I aren't there."

Violet looked at Siger, then turned back to Molly. "You should go home, my dear."

"That's what I think, Mummy."

"And don't wait until tomorrow."

"But it's already –"

"It's not quite six o'clock," Siger said, breaking his silence. "You could be home by half past eight."

"If Mycroft's at the Diogenes –"

"Won't they let you in?"

"I suppose so," Molly said, then slumped in her chair, silently weighing the choices. After a minute or so, she sat back up. "All right, I'm going. Would you look after Michael while I get our things together?"

"Of course, dear. Do you need my help?"

"Thank you, Mummy, but we didn't bring that much. Dad, could you help me with the cot?" Molly called Andrew as she and Siger headed upstairs. "I need you to do me a favor, Andrew."

#####

It was actually a quarter of nine when Andrew pulled to a stop in front of the Diogenes. "If you'll wait here, Mrs. Holmes, I'll make sure Mr. Holmes is here before you go in."

Molly studied Michael's sleeping face, looking for any sign that he might wake soon. She'd nursed him on the way to London and he'd been asleep for close to an hour. She looked up when the car door opened and Andrew bent down to her level.

#####

Mycroft didn't react when the door opened behind him since he was expecting Patrick with the tea tray, but he straightened after a moment when there was no sound of the cart. Something in the air caused him to freeze, then one of Molly's hands came to rest lightly on his shoulder. For a moment, Mycroft's mind went blank, then he closed his eyes and quickly raised his hand to cover hers.

Molly leaned over Mycroft and ran her free hand over his head before cupping his cheek. She couldn't stop tears from welling in her eyes when she bent to kiss his forehead. "You have to start telling me what you need, Mycroft Holmes," she whispered, "what you _want,_ you silly man."

Mycroft lifted her hand off his shoulder and threaded their fingers together, then tugged steadily until she sat on his lap. "The next time you want to do something for me," he said, opening his eyes to meet hers, "buy me a tie."

Molly's lips trembled, then firmed before they relaxed in a smile. "You'd hate the kind of tie I'd choose."

Mycroft slid his arms around her waist. "No, I wouldn't," he said slowly, "but I can't promise to _wear_ it."

Molly gave a watery snuffle, then twined her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. "Can we please go home now?"

Mycroft lowered his head to nuzzle Molly's throat and sent a shiver through her when he murmured, "I _am_ home now."


	5. Yes, Back To Work (title cont)

**[*full chapter title ...]**

 ***Yes ... Back To Work If You Don't Mind**

 _#####_

 _S_ _ummary:_ _Molly prepares to return to Barts after her maternity leave ..._

 _#####_

 _~Fifteenth of November, A Sunday~_

"After having enjoyed an intimate relationship with your breasts for quite some time now, I feel confident in predicting an immediate and non-negotiable rejection of this … most _inferior_ substitute," Mycroft concluded with a grimace at the item at hand.

"Michael's assessment will be based on slightly different criteria from what's relevant for _your_ purposes, _Mister_ Holmes," Molly said, plucking the baby bottle nipple from his fingers while ignoring his chuckle. She inspected what had been her first choice again and wrinkled her nose before tossing it into the carrier bag. "But you're probably right about that one." She looked at the other three nipple options lined up on the worktop and sighed. "I don't think it's going to make much difference which one we try. I hope Michael won't need to bottle-feed at all and can go straight from breast to cup, but …" She sighed again, then looked up with a smile and change of subject. "How about some tea?"

"What about the nipples –"

"Never mind," Molly said, tossing the rest of them into the bag. She was returning to work from her maternity leave in two days, but only on a part-time basis until after New Year's. She'd wanted to prepare Michael to take a bottle in case an "emergency" situation arose, but she had every reason to believe she could coordinate his usual nursing schedule with her work schedule. "If Michael needs to take a bottle, any one of them will probably be as good – or bad - as the others." She filled the kettle, flipped the switch, then went to the refrigerator and began removing a stack of identically sized food storage containers, all neatly labeled. Mycroft watched as Molly arranged the small plastic boxes in rows on the island tabletop. "You can help me choose what solid foods to try him on instead."

"Molly, my dear, might you be taking the selection process a bit too seriously?"

"Too _seriously?"_ Molly straightened and looked at him incredulously.

Mycroft rose to his feet and bowed, smiling, "My apologies," before walking over to finish preparing the tea.

#####

Just before five o'clock, Molly stopped in the doorway to the study, grinning at the sight of Mycroft working on his laptop one-handed while avoiding the curious fingers Michael was trying to poke into his ear. "I hope you're not exposing him to anything too hush-hush. I don't think he's aware yet of the need for discretion."

Mycroft settled back in his chair, turning Michael to rest against his chest facing Molly, then cupped his hands under the baby's bottom and knees. "I'll have to warn him of the dire consequences of passing state secrets to his new crèche friends."

Molly rounded his desk, perched on its edge beside them, then brushed a finger over Michael's cheek, rubbing a line of drool off his chin with the back of her knuckle. "He'll have two more teeth soon."

"The drooling volume has certainly increased," Mycroft said, cocking his head so he could see Michael's face, then firmly rubbed the pad of his thumb over the center of the baby's upper gum. "Not long now until they come through." The baby caught Mycroft's thumb in his hand and began gnawing on its edge.

"Let me take him," Molly said. "It's time for his great adventure."

"I'll come with you," Mycroft said, rising to his feet as Molly straightened away from the desk. "Trying one's first solid food is obviously a _very_ serious proposition," he added, drolly.

"Uh-huh," she said, suppressing an eye roll as she led the way to the kitchen and Michael's new highchair. Half an hour later, the results were in. Of the fruits and vegetables she'd cut to a size Michael could hold in his fist, the parsnip strip was gummed a bit before being dropped to the floor, half of the avocado strip was eaten then dropped, the peach strip went down well, as did a small bite of banana. The spoonful of pureed carrot Molly offered him proved to be an excellent medium for an impromptu bit of abstract art on the highchair's tray. A spoonful of rice cereal had left one side of his hair sticking up in clumps and a slick residue on his tiny starfish fingers after Molly reacted too slowly to Michael's interest in the spoon. When she moved his fingers away from his hair, she somehow knocked the cereal bowl off the table.

While Molly cleaned the floor around the highchair, Mycroft unstrapped and lifted Michael against his chest, manfully suppressing a grimace at the feel of sticky hands being rubbed over his cheeks by his delighted son. The important point was that Michael had successfully eaten some solid food - and had achieved the milestone with laughter and in a spirit of fun, mostly thanks to Molly … who'd given Mycroft her version of The Look when he visibly winced at the glop of cereal that had landed so perfectly in the thin gap between his sock and the side edge of his shoe.

"A shower seems in order," Mycroft said, tightening his hold on Michael when the baby twisted around to watch Molly wipe up the last bit of cereal.

"Don't forget the baby shampoo." Molly rose from her crouch and lifted onto her toes to give Michael a kiss on the cheek. "You did wonderfully well, sweetie." She dropped her heels, but after a glance at Mycroft she again lifted up to press her lips to his. "You did wonderfully well, too." She echoed his smile and lowered her heels to the floor, then tilted her head to study his left shoe and the dried flecks of cereal marring its supple leather surface. She looked back up at him, grinning. "It was a noble sacrifice you made there."

#####

Molly was taking her own shower after putting Michael to bed once he'd finished nursing and was trying to shake off that almost forgotten Sunday-night gloom she'd often experienced during her teens, dreading the return to school on Monday morning even though she hadn't actually _disliked_ school. It was more the loss of freedom after a weekend's adventures, the return to the routine. Molly truly wanted to return to work, but the reservations she continued to have at leaving Michael's care to others, no matter how limited the basis, were worsened by that old sense of freedom lost, dull routine imposed. She knew that wasn't the case now – that her job was rarely pure routine. _But._

At least she had one more day left of her official leave. Molly sighed, then finished rinsing her hair and stepped out of the shower. Awhile later, she set the hairdryer aside and slowly smiled as she ran the brush through her hair. That teenaged Molly could never have imagined the delicious distraction who'd be waiting for her in the next room one day ….

Mycroft was momentarily taken aback by the intensity Molly exhibited when she, quite literally, _pounced_ on him after crossing to the bed from her dressing room.

But then the book he'd been reading toppled to the floor, forgotten.

#####

The following morning, Molly entered the kitchen carrying Michael and found Sherlock sitting with Mycroft at the island, eating a heavily jam-laden scone.

"Good morning, Sherlock," she said, coming to a stop beside Mycroft's stool. She tightened her grip on the baby and rubbed her free hand between Mycroft's shoulder blades where her brother-in-law couldn't see it. "What brings you here so early?"

"I wanted to go over a few things with you concerning tomorrow –"

"Your body parts wish-list, I suppose," she broke in.

"Well, that too of course, but we need to talk about Dr. Denis."

"Oh god - what have you done to him?"

 _"_ _Nothing,"_ Sherlock insisted, then popped the last of the scone into his mouth.

Molly decided to let it go for the moment and hitched Michael higher against her shoulder as she crossed the room. She was pouring a cup of tea when Mrs. Collingwood came through the door from the larder, carrying a square plastic box. "Good morning, Miss Molly."

"Good morning, Mrs. C." Molly turned to lean against the worktop, eyeing the food container curiously.

The housekeeper glanced at the box, then looked at Sherlock before turning back to Molly. "Sherlock likes my mince pies so I'm giving him some of the ones I froze last week." She started across the kitchen. "I'll just put them in the freezer here until he's ready to go."

Molly carried her cup and saucer to the island and was about to sit on the stool by Mycroft when she noticed Michael was staring at Sherlock. She edged around the table and leaned toward her brother-in-law. "Here." Sherlock automatically shied away, but his eyes remained focused on the baby. When Michael's body tensed, Molly took a firmer grip on him, knowing he was getting ready to launch himself toward his uncle. Sherlock recognized the baby's intent and his eyes widened, then met Molly's. "Come on, Sherlock. Take him so I can have some breakfast."

Sherlock finally raised his hands and allowed Molly to transfer Michael to him. Molly immediately turned away, leaving the two of them to get on with it. Sherlock had held the baby before, but it was usually through some sort of coercion, most often by Violet during family get-togethers.

Molly took her place by Mycroft and leaned over to steal a bit of bacon off his plate, giving him a playful sidelong glance. "I'm glad Sherlock's arrival didn't put you off breakfast entirely." When Sherlock drew a quick breath, she met his eyes with a hard look … a warning against taking advantage of the opening she'd just inadvertently given him. Sherlock subsided, and Molly turned back to Mycroft. "What time do you have to leave?"

Mycroft glanced at the clock on the wall. "Twenty minutes."

Molly sighed. "I should have come down sooner."

"No," he said quietly as their eyes met, "I'm glad you slept in a bit."

Sherlock snorted derisively. "Look at you … Molly so blatantly besotted and brother dear looking like an amorous thought never crossed his mind, despite the fact that you two obviously enjoyed quite a night -"

 _"_ _Sherlock!"_ Molly glared at him, trying to ignore her blush. She suddenly realized Mrs. Collingwood was still in the room and her blush deepened as she glanced at the housekeeper and away again. "If you expect me to get you any more body parts, Sherlock Holmes, don't you ever –" She broke off, awkwardly. "Just _don't."_ Molly turned to look at Mycroft and saw he was staring at Sherlock over the rim of his teacup. She suppressed a shiver as she dropped her eyes to her own cup, then brought it to her mouth. She knew Mycroft and Sherlock loved each other, though neither would likely admit it even on pain of death, but at times they still went at each other like the worst of enemies. She thought she'd shrivel where she stood – or sat, in Sherlock's case – if ever on the receiving end of such a deadly stare from her husband.

Molly sipped her tea in silence for a few moments, then raised her gaze to Michael. He was clutching the lapel of Sherlock's jacket with one hand, while the other moved slowly but determinedly toward Sherlock's curls. Molly considered intervening, but hesitated just long enough for the baby to get a firm grasp on a lock of hair behind Sherlock's left ear. Molly suppressed a grin at the resulting pained squawk from her brother-in-law and delighted squeal from her son as he jerkily pulled his uncle's hair again. She quickly glanced at Mycroft and their eyes met in shared amusement before he rose to his feet and pushed the stool under the edge of the table.

Mycroft strolled around the island and took hold of Michael's hand and carefully released Sherlock's hair. "No hair pulling, Michael," he said calmly, then took the baby from his brother and turned toward the housekeeper. "Thanks for a lovely breakfast, Mrs. C." He headed toward the door, then paused and half-turned. "Molly?"

Molly jumped up to follow them, throwing a quick "back shortly" over her shoulder at Sherlock. Mycroft had waited for her to catch up, and the three of them went upstairs. Once in their bedroom, he transferred Michael to Molly, gave her a brief kiss, then crossed the room and went through the door to his dressing room.

When Mycroft returned, Molly was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing peek-a-boo with a giggling Michael. She glanced up when he came to stand over her. "Are you truly besotted, my dear?"

"Most blatantly, my love," Molly said, lifting her face as he stooped to kiss her.

When their lips separated, Mycroft's eyes met hers, and he slowly smiled. "I can assure you that amorous thoughts quite frequently pass through my mind when you're in the vicinity."

"I know," she said, returning his smile, then grimaced. "Your brother can be an idiot about some things."

He pursed his lips and lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he straightened. "And alarmed by certain others."

#####

Molly focused on encouraging Michael to push himself higher off the floor and ignored Sherlock as he made another lap around the music room. Molly clapped her hands when the baby succeeded in briefly raising his bottom off the floor by pushing back onto his knees while lying on his tummy. She'd noticed him making a rocking movement the day before and thought he was in the very early stages of learning to crawl.

Sherlock sighed loudly as he finally dropped into a chair near them and pulled his feet onto its seat before wrapping his arms around his knees. "Is this what you've been doing for the past six months?"

"No, Sherlock – Michael couldn't do this months ago."

He snorted. "You know what I mean."

Molly glanced up at him. "Then yes, I've been working with Michael as much as possible to help him strengthen his neck muscles and be able to hold his head up. Sitting up properly and eventually walking requires him to be able to control his head. He's getting pretty good at sitting up, but we still have to be ready for him to wobble every time."

Sherlock dropped his feet to the floor, crossed his arms over his chest, and silently stared at her. "Much more of this brain-numbing activity," he finally said dismissively, "and you won't be of any use to me whatsoever."

"Excuse me?" Molly pressed her lips in a thin line and released a long breath through her nose, then narrowed her eyes and continued, darkly, "Helping my baby to develop both mentally and physically is mind-numbing? Useless?"

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "Of course it is." Molly simply stared at him disbelievingly. "What do you think has happened to your ability with a scalpel over all these months? And you've surely lost the deductive skills you'd finally started to pick up, if only on a basic level."

Molly continued to stare at him, utterly confounded by his cluelessness. She finally gave him a withering look and turned back to Michael, lowering herself onto her stomach beside him. She adjusted his arms so they were stretched out before him on the floor and, after making sure he was watching her, lifted herself onto all fours and rocked back and forth for several moments before stretching out again.

"What the _hell_ are you doing, Molly?"

"Don't be so stupid, Sherlock," she said caustically. "Surely it's not a difficult deduction."

He didn't reply, and she was determined to ignore him while she worked with Michael. After a couple of increasingly tense minutes, he finally replied, sounding truly surprised. "You're _an_ gry."

Molly briefly glanced at him over her shoulder then turned back to Michael. _No shit, Sherlock,_ she thought, but was trying not to swear in front of the baby since the next time she let loose with a particularly rude word would probably be when Michael was paying attention and then ended up using it as his first word. In public. "Gee, genius … what gives you _that_ idea."

Sherlock uncrossed his arms, then slumped back in the chair, pressed his fingertips together and rested his chin on them. "I don't understand why you're so angry," he said, studying her carefully. "What I said is the truth."

Molly glanced at him again, then shook her head and exhaled noisily. "I disagree with you, Sherlock," she said, then twisted around to sit up on one hip as she stared at him, "and it's hurtful to realize you think so little of Michael that you consider my spending time with him, working with him, is of no value."

Sherlock stared silently at Molly, his brows knitted in a frown. He finally blinked slowly several times and then sat up, rubbing a palm over his face before dropping both hands to his thighs. "Oh. You thought I meant it wasn't worth spending time with Michael. No, I can see that working one-on-one with him is good for his growth mentally and physically – and obviously worth your time as a parent. I meant it wasn't good for _you_ as my pathologist to spend so much time with a baby. It has to be detrimental to your thinking processes. He can hardly provide any mental stimulation."

Molly rolled onto her stomach and dropped her forehead onto her crossed arms. "Oh, Sherlock," she groaned to the floorboards. "You have no idea that you're being insulting, do you."

"I didn't mean to insult you, Molly," he said earnestly. "Or Michael. Forgive me?"

"Mustn't lose your source for body parts," she muttered against her arm.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," Molly said, then ground her teeth for a moment before lifting her head and releasing a long breath through pursed lips. She turned to Michael and laughed when she saw he was pursing his own lips, apparently mimicking her. She rolled closer and grabbed him around the ribs and wiggled her fingers, causing him to chuckle in delight. She bent to nuzzle his neck, then lifted him with her when she sat up and swiveled on her bottom toward Sherlock. Once she'd folded her legs before her, she settled Michael on his bottom in the nest she'd created, his back against her midriff, his little legs propped over her calves, then took his hands in hers and waved his arms around as if he were conducting an orchestra. "So tell me what you did to Dr. Denis."

 _"_ _Nothing."_

Molly sighed. "What would Dr. Denis say?"

Sherlock jiggled his leg jerkily. "I couldn't say."

"Can't or won't?"

"I'd rather not."

 _"_ _Sherlock,"_ she protested. "I'll hear about it tomorrow. You might as well tell me now."

Sherlock shot up and began pacing around the music room again. "I might have taken something without permission."

"Might have?"

 _"_ _You_ would have given it to me if you'd _been_ there," he said, accusingly.

She saw no point in arguing with that reasoning. "What was it?"

"I had a case involving the death of a young woman reportedly due to self-inflicted paracetamol poisoning, but the level of necrosis was –"

"You took a liver from the morgue without permission?"

"Just to the lab. It didn't leave the building."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh, Sherlock."

"Dr. Denis was taking too long."

"Wait a minute – you took a liver from a corpse?"

Sherlock looked at her, brows knitted in a frown. "He'd already finished the postmortem."

" _Sherlock!_ It was an ongoing case."

"He was taking too long."

Molly tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, then groaned. "If you don't watch it, Mike Stamford's going to have no choice but to ban you from the morgue and lab."

"You won't let that happen though," he said, giving her his best puppy dog look. "Will you?"

Molly looked down at Michael, who was leaning more heavily against her stomach. She cocked her head until she could see his face. "Wait here," she said, scooping Michael up in her arms and carefully getting to her feet. "I need to put Michael down for his nap." She paused to give Sherlock a hard look. "Do _not_ go away."

Michael roused a bit when they entered his room, so Molly sat in the rocker to see if he wanted to nurse. He focused on her breast for a moment and then latched on, but after less than five minutes he had fallen asleep again. Molly settled him on his back in the cot, adjusted her clothing and picked up the baby monitor.

#####

"All right, Sherlock … I'll talk to Dr. Denis," Molly said awhile later, drawing a knee onto the sofa and folding her leg under her as she shifted to face him. "But you better not try that sort of thing again with me – or anyone else at Barts. If you do, I'll report you to Mike myself, brother-in-law or not."

He opened his mouth to respond, but apparently thought better of whatever he'd been about to say. Finally, he simply said, "Thank you, Molly."

Sherlock left with his container of mince pies soon after he'd admitted it all – or she _assumed_ he'd told her everything. She'd certainly hear the truth the next day from various parties if he hadn't done a full disclosure. Molly snorted after a moment. _Situation normal,_ she thought. _Back to work indeed_.


	6. You HAVE Been Busy, Haven't You

_Summary: Molly returns to Barts …_

#####

An early start was nothing new for Mycroft, but Molly had to drag herself out of bed when the alarm went off at half past five Tuesday morning. She hoped getting up so early wouldn't be necessary once her workday routine was re-established. First, though, they had to figure out how much extra time was needed to cover _Michael's_ morning routine. Molly knew how long the baby's first feeding normally took, but he might be slower to start and finish with the change to his nursing schedule.

"You should stay in bed awhile," she said, running her eyes over her husband as she pulled on her dressing gown. When Mycroft straightened his arms overhead and yawned his way through a full-body stretch, Molly fleetingly considered suggesting a quickie, then sighed at the thought of all the things they had to do before her shift started at Barts. She instead rounded the foot of the bed, braced herself over Mycroft with a hand flattened against his chest, and stooped to kiss him. " _Mmmm_ ... you gorgeous man," she murmured as she straightened, then held his gaze for a few moments before turning away. "God, you are _such_ a temptation."

Mycroft watched Molly until she passed through her dressing room door and out of sight, then turned his head to stare at the ceiling. He yawned again, more audibly this time, then got out of bed, looking at the open door to Molly's dressing room as he shrugged into his dressing gown. He hesitated a few moments, then turned away and crossed the room to his bathroom, reminding himself they could take all the time they wanted that night.

The two hours before they eventually left the house at half past seven seemed to pass very quickly. Michael hadn't hesitated to nurse earlier than usual, but he did take longer with it. He'd come to expect playtime with Molly after nursing, but instead she put him on the mat of his play gym while she moved around his room, repacking the changing bag. She then picked Michael up and returned to her bedroom. "Mycroft?" He walked out of his dressing room, fully dressed but with his jacket folded over his arm. "Are you ready to take him now?"

Mycroft hung the jacket around the back of a chair, then crossed to Molly and took Michael from her. "Go take your shower and don't rush – you have plenty of time." They separated to head toward different doors, but Molly hesitated when Mycroft cleared his throat. "I left something for you in the wardrobe." He didn't wait for a reply. "We'll see you downstairs."

She hurried to her dressing room and opened the wardrobe doors. There were two hanging garment bags that hadn't been there the last time she looked. She squeezed the thinner one between thumb and forefinger and could feel some sort of lightweight clothing. She lowered the zipper, then flipped through the bag's contents. _Huh._ Why had Mycroft put six white labcoats in her wardrobe? She took one off its hanger and then noticed her full name, _Molly Hooper Holmes,_ embroidered in red over the front pocket, followed by post-nominals showing her medical qualifications and membership in the Royal College of Pathologists. She quickly moved to the other garment bag and slowly lowered the zipper, and then gasped at the sight of several jumpers, shirts and pairs of trousers, grouped together as three outfits. The one at the front consisted of dark gray trousers, a pale pink shirt, and a V-necked, lambswool jumper in a color-block pattern of dark gray, cream and pale pink. There was also a shoe box with a pair of low-heeled ankle boots in soft black leather. Molly laughed when she opened a shopping bag and found a soft leather hobo-style handbag. In pink. _Oh, that man._ Just when she thought she couldn't possibly love Mycroft more than she did, he buys her a pink handbag … or has someone else do it. Either way, she knew he was the one who thought of it.

Half an hour later, Molly smoothed the sides of her hair and fastened the clip around her ponytail, then swiftly braided the tail and wrapped an elastic band around its end. One last glance in the mirror, then she headed downstairs. Her steps slowed as she turned down the short hall to the kitchen and she stopped entirely when she went through the door. Mycroft was sipping his tea while he listened to Mrs. Collingwood, but lowered the cup when Molly came in.

"My, don't you look nice, Miss Molly," Mrs. Collingwood said with a warm smile.

Molly's gaze slid to the housekeeper and she thanked her before turning back to Mycroft. "Mycroft surprised me with some new clothes this morning." She looked down at herself when he didn't say anything, then looked back at him with a tentative smile. "Thank you for all the beautiful gifts."

Mycroft got up and walked over to stand a few feet from her, then lifted a brow while twirling his forefinger in the air. Molly's smile brightened as she slowly turned in a circle. "You do look lovely, my dear," he said, moving closer to take her hand. "It's good to see you in work clothes that actually fit, rather than ones several sizes too large. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added when Molly frowned. "You don't have to wear these clothes, but I knew you hadn't taken time to buy anything new since Michael was born and wanted to give you some choices."

Molly looked past Mycroft at Michael, who was strapped into his highchair and playing with several toys on the tray. More toys were on the floor around him. Mrs. Collingwood set a cup of tea at the place across from Mycroft's and Molly walked over to take a seat. When Mycroft had settled on his stool again, she said, "I like these clothes. Besides, my other work things wouldn't fit the same since I'm a bit bigger in the chest and," she grimaced, "the bottom."

Mycroft set his cup back in the saucer and leaned sideways, deliberately running his gaze down her body. He was about to remark appreciatively on those changes, but refrained when movement at the corner of his eye reminded him of Mrs. Collingwood's presence. "Going back to work after more than six months away gives you an opportunity to start afresh. Whether you realize it or not, you've changed since you were last at Barts, and I don't mean the physical changes because you've had a baby."

"In what ways," she asked as she spread jam on a piece of toast.

"For one thing, you're much more self-assured," he said, tilting his head as he studied her. "You walk more confidently. You even look taller."

"That's probably because _you're_ so tall," she said. "I find myself standing as straight as I can and lifting my chin to minimize the difference in our heights. I guess it's become a habit now."

Mycroft leaned across the table to take Molly's hand in his. "All I'm saying, my dear, is you were never that timid 'mouse' you thought yourself and convinced some other people you were. If you want to, you can get rid of that image forever and all you have to do is let people see the real you. Wearing better fitting clothes doesn't change who you are, but it requires you to give up the disguise of ones that are much too big for you."

"I really do like these, Mycroft," she said, smoothing her free hand over the front of the jumper. "They're still _me,_ aren't they … perhaps a little more sophisticated version of me." Molly squeezed his hand. "I don't mind that. But Mycroft – that pink handbag … did you gag when you gave instructions to buy that?"

Mycroft looked affronted. "I'll have you know, Molly Hooper Holmes, that I bought the handbag myself. And, no, I did not 'gag'." _Much,_ he thought.

"Just when did you have time to go shopping?"

"Saturday morning."

"You told me you had to go to the office."

"I _did_ go to the office … briefly," he said wryly, then flipped his pocket watch open. "You need to eat something. We have to leave in twenty minutes."

"Oh my god," Molly said with a quick glance at Michael, who was still absorbed by the one squeeze toy he hadn't dropped to the floor, "where did the time go?" She hurried to the refrigerator. "I'll just have some yoghurt, Mrs. C, and the rest of that toast."

"It will be cold, Miss Molly."

"It's all right," she said, returning to her stool. "Oh god, I can't believe I've fooled around and made us have to rush now."

"Calm down, my dear. We're not in that much of a rush."

Molly ate several spoonsful of yoghurt, then set her spoon down. "Why did you get all those labcoats? It was tremendously thoughtful of you, but you know they're just going to get mucky."

"They can be cleaned," he said. "Since you've decided to use both names now at work, I enjoyed making it more official. The embroidery was a bit of an indulgence on my part." He pushed his stool back and bent to release Michael from the highchair. "I'll see if he needs changing and bring his bag down. Do you need anything else?"

"The blue ring-sling. It's in the top drawer of the chest." Molly watched as they left the kitchen, then quickly finished the yoghurt. "I hope I haven't forgotten anything."

"If you need something from home today, just call me and I'll bring it to you," Mrs. Collingwood said, as she came to stand by Molly.

"That would be great, Mrs. C," Molly said. "It's nice to know you've got my back." She ate the last bite of toast, finished her tea, then sighed and looked up at the housekeeper. "I want to go back to work, but I'm sorry as well. I've enjoyed being at home all this time, and I'm so grateful for all you've done to help me … _us."_

"You're welcome, Miss Molly, but it's been my pleasure," she said, resting a hand on Molly's shoulder. "If you ever need me to take care of Michael, I'll be happy to do so."

Molly rose to her feet and gave the housekeeper a warm hug. "We'll see you this evening. I hope you and Toby have a nice day." Molly hurried upstairs and met Mycroft with Michael on his way toward the stairs. "I'll be down in a few minutes." Molly quickly brushed her teeth, grabbed her handbag and carryall, then looked around, trying to think of anything else she needed. Less than ten minutes later, the three of them were out the door and waving goodbye to Mrs. Collingwood. _7:23, not bad._

Molly shifted on the seat to see Michael better and smiled when he tried to put his foot in his mouth. He seemed fascinated by his feet and hands and at times needed little more to entertain him. Molly raised her gaze to Mycroft and watched him for a few moments as he worked on his mobile. "Everything all right? Do you still have time to go to the nursery with me?"

Mycroft shifted toward her as he slipped the phone into his pocket, then threaded their fingers together. "As well as it's ever going to be," he said. "I wouldn't want to miss Michael's first day."

"Besides, you need to have the other babies' backgrounds checked," she quipped.

"Already done, as well as their parents' and grandparents'," he said. Despite his wry tone, Molly doubted he was joking, but didn't pursue the subject further.

"By the way …," Molly said after a few minutes, "please don't buy me anything for Christmas." She turned away from the window to give Mycroft her sternest look. "And I do actually mean it – not like some spouses who may say that but then get angry when their instructions are followed." She smiled at his skeptical expression. "Truly, Mycroft. There's nothing I need or want, at least nothing materially. All I'd like is to dance with the man I love in the privacy of our home without any of your usual grumbling - not that _that_ lasts long once we get started," she added in a low voice as she leaned toward him and brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. "Your enthusiasm level usually rises dramatically as we go along." Molly continued to hold his eyes, then abruptly straightened and turned to look out the window, flushing a bit when she thought of Walter in the front seat. "Besides," she said after a few moments, "with Mrs. C in Australia over Christmas and New Year's, we'll have the whole house to dance in without worrying about anyone seeing you taking part in such a frivolous activity."

"We'll have the whole house to do all _sorts_ of things in."

Molly quickly turned back to him, shocked that he'd make such an insinuation while in "work mode" - and do so in that deep tone of voice he used when … _"Mycroft,"_ she protested in a whisper, jerking her head in Walter's direction.

Mycroft laughed under his breath. "If you want to dance, we'll dance. Is that all you want for Christmas?"

"The only present I want from you for Christmas or for our anniversary or for birthdays is to spend time together, to whatever extent your work allows it. I'd like to _do_ things with you," she said, then quickly continued at his arch look, "maybe have a few adventures – low-key adventures. And I don't mean going on some sort of extravagant holiday. I just mean taking a hike like we did up Arthur's Seat or going on a picnic or spending a day exploring a ruined castle or something - places we could take Michael, because family time, however limited, will be important as he gets older."

"Is that it then?"

"Yes, with the understanding that it's in addition to spending enormous amounts of time letting me take advantage of your body," she said with a smile.

"Naturally."

Molly turned to look out the window as Walter pulled up outside the nursery entrance. Molly gathered her things and quickly slid out of the car, then turned to wait for Mycroft to climb out with Michael, leaving the car seat behind. They crossed the pavement and entered the reception area, and Molly suddenly realized she was clutching Mycroft's arm. Tightly. She loosened her hold but didn't entirely let go when the receptionist greeted them or when the nursery director came out and led them to her office. After a short time there going over nursery rules and both sides' expectations, they moved to the room that was dedicated for babies aged six to eighteen months.

The décor was all bright colors, squishy looking soft furniture and tot-sized, primary-colored chairs and tables, neatly shelved and stowed-away toys – all that was welcoming and cozy and fun at first impression … _and,_ Molly thought with a quick glance at Mycroft, as _noisy_ as one might expect of a room currently peopled by nine babies other than Michael. The dedicated room leader, Ruth Greene, came to greet them and quickly described a typical day for the children in her care. Molly broke in when she began to explain how they handled feeding the babies.

"Michael still nurses four or five times a day and takes vitamin supplements, and I'll be coming to feed him mid-day – during the lunch hour," she said. "He's started eating a few solid foods the last two days in the early evening, and we want to keep to that schedule. Please don't give him anything else. If he ever shows any signs of being hungry, call me, and I can be here in a few minutes. If he starts to show a lot of interest in what the other babies are eating, let us know and we can possibly make changes. My point is we don't want to wean Michael now so need whatever you do with him here to support full-time breastfeeding."

"Of course, Dr. Hooper," Ruth assured her. "Michael's situation is not that unusual. We've often cared for babies who were still nursing full-time."

"Don't ever hesitate to contact me. I'll be in the lab or morgue and can get here in just a few minutes," Molly said. "Oh, I'm now using the name Holmes by the way." She handed over Michael's changing bag, and Ruth went back to her duties, leaving Molly and Mycroft in the sitting area to take their leave from Michael.

"I don't want to do this," Molly muttered as she reached for the baby.

Mycroft frowned as they completed the transfer. "What?"

"I don't want to do this," she said more insistently, hugging Michael close as her gaze flitted around the room. She finally lifted her gaze to Mycroft's for a moment, but then she dropped her eyes and moved closer to press her forehead against his upper arm … his aversion to public displays be damned.

Mycroft shifted until his back was to the room and the side of Molly's face was pressed to his chest. His eyes met Michael's bright gaze, then he raised an arm to encircle them both. "If you're serious, Molly …," he began, not wanting to press her, but aware that her shift was due to start shortly. He recalled but dismissed his own meeting that was due to start in about half an hour.

Molly didn't say anything for several moments, but then she took a shuddery breath and released it slowly. "No - yes," she said against his jacket. "Yes, I'm serious, but -" She stopped to take another deep breath, then lifted her head, "No, I have to do this."

"You don't _have_ to do anything, my dear," he said.

"No, but I need to do this," she said, meeting his eyes for a moment before she turned to Michael, who was looking around the room, bright-eyed and curious. "Look at Michael. _He_ needs us to do this. He needs to interact with other children, to have contact with more people than us few. And I need to work." Mycroft dropped his arm when Molly straightened and shifted Michael higher in her arms. "I love you, Michael, my sweet boy," she whispered, then kissed both of his cheeks. "Here," she said quickly, "take him, please, while I have a word with Ruth."

Molly didn't actually need to talk to Ruth again, but she wanted to give Mycroft a few moments alone with Michael. She didn't know whether Mycroft needed that, but _she_ needed that for them. Molly was making sure Ruth had all of her contact information, when Mycroft walked over to stand beside them. He carefully transferred Michael to Ruth, then stepped back and discreetly took Molly's hand.

Ruth smiled at them warmly while Michael looked at her wide-eyed. "Michael will be fine with us. Try not to worry," she said, then held her hand out to Molly. "We'll see you in just a few hours, Dr. Holmes."

Molly suppressed a snort at her own surprise at hearing that name, then rubbed a finger over Michael's leg before turning away. She didn't look back as they crossed the room and went out the door, but stopped halfway to the front door, checked her watch, and looked up at Mycroft. "I'm sorry for the meltdown," she said, fingering the edge of his lapel for a moment before dropping her hand. "I just - it was just …"

"Hard to entrust Michael's care to someone else, even so temporarily," Mycroft said, then glanced around before taking Molly's hand. "I know," he said, meeting her eyes, then continued to hold her gaze until her lips curved in amusement. "Now what."

"Which one of the nursery staff is on your payroll?"

Mycroft arched his brows as his eyes widened. "My payroll?" His brows lowered again as he shook his head. "You credit me with far more reach than I have, my dear. You've been listening to Sherlock's conspiracy theories for too long."

"Uh-huh, sure," Molly airily agreed, letting go of his hand as she started walking toward the door. "Hurry up … I don't want to be late on my first day back."

Mycroft found himself unexpectedly having to suppress a laugh as he followed her out the door. _After all, Mycroft Holmes doesn't laugh in public._

#####

"For _god's_ sake … couldn't you give him the slip?"

 _"Sherlock!"_ Molly was still pressing her hand against her heart as she stepped around Mycroft, who'd instinctively moved to protect her when she'd gasped at finding someone sitting at her desk. In her locked office. "What are you doing in my office?"

"The sooner you handle this business with Dr. Denis, the sooner I can get back to my experiments," Sherlock said, then glared at Mycroft over her shoulder. "You can go away now, brother mine."

"Leave Mycroft alone," Molly said, raising her palm toward her husband before he could respond in kind. She grabbed Sherlock's ankles as she rounded her desk and swung his feet to the floor – and not particularly gently. "Get out of my chair and out of my office. I'll meet you in the lab a little later, but I have to go to Human Resources first and then meet with Mike before starting work." She stepped aside as Sherlock brushed by her, then dropped her bags onto her desk. "Go on, Sherlock," she said more kindly when he hesitated by the door. "I won't be long. Why don't you make a list of all the deficiencies I've likely acquired in the past six months and we can develop a plan for bringing me up to your standards – sorry, an _approximation_ of your standards." Sherlock silently stared at Molly, blinking slowly at both the unexpected flurry of words and the way her tone had sharpened as she went on, then turned to go. "Wait a minute, Sherlock," she said, walking around her desk. "Come here."

"I've got to go –"

"Come here a moment." When he turned back to her, she grabbed the sleeve of his coat and pulled him further into the office. He glowered fiercely when she lifted onto her toes to kiss his cheek, but he didn't try to avoid it. "Don't mind me, brother dear. I've had a long morning already and had to watch someone else – a _stranger_ – take charge of Michael, and I'm feeling a bit … spiky." She patted his arm and glanced briefly at Mycroft who'd watched their exchange impassively. "I'm looking forward to working with you again, truly."

Molly suppressed a gasp of shock when Sherlock bent to kiss her forehead. "I'm happy to have you back, Molly." He swiftly turned and left the office, the swing of his Belstaff the last thing she saw out of the corner of her eye, and Molly looked at Mycroft, wide-eyed.

Mycroft flicked his brows as he reached to push the door shut. "I'm glad my little brother appreciates you, my dear, though I wish he'd acknowledge it more often." He lowered his eyes to his pocket watch, then snapped it shut and tucked the watch away. "I have to go and you need to get to work." Molly rested her palms on Mycroft's chest as he slipped his arms around her waist, and he looked at her for a moment before bending to touch his lips softly to hers. When he started to pull away, Molly gripped his lapels and kissed him more firmly, then smoothed her hands over his jacket as she released him. "Call me after lunch and let me know how your morning goes."

"I will," she replied as he stepped away and opened the door. "Just a sec, and I'll walk part of the way with you." She quickly stowed her handbag in her desk and locked the drawer, pulled her new labcoat from the carryall and shrugged into it, then tossed the bag in a cabinet and locked that as well. Molly ran her hands down the front of the labcoat, smoothing out a few wrinkles, as she followed Mycroft out the door, then walked beside him down the corridor until they parted ways at the second intersecting hallway. Molly waved as she made the turn, and then work-mode Molly officially took over.

#####

After leaving Human Resources, Molly went to Mike Stamford's office. He smiled broadly when Molly tapped on the open door and hurried around his desk to greet her. "I think a kiss is acceptable," he said, giving her a peck on the cheek and a quick hug. "It's so good to see you, Molly."

"And you, Mike," she said, smiling. "How can six months seem so long and so short at the same time?"

Mike crossed his arms as he leaned against his desk and Molly dropped into a chair in front of it. "Are you ready to get back to work?"

"Perhaps mentally more than physically," she said, flexing her fingers. "I haven't had a scalpel in my hands for a long time, Mike."

"Are you concerned about that?"

"No, not really," she said, "but I've never been away from work for more than two weeks at a time since I became a pathologist."

Mike uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. "You'll do fine," he said, then straightened and rounded his desk to sit down. He picked up a small stack of charts and flipped through them. "Here … start with Geraldine Talton. It looks like a straightforward stroke that caused her to fall down the stairs, but she lived alone and wasn't found for a few days, so …"

"Right," Molly said, scooting forward to take the paperwork from him. "What else?"

"Why don't you complete that PM first to get your feet under you, then come back and we'll go over the list and I'll brief you on some changes to lab protocols."

Molly rose to her feet, then hesitated. "Mike, about Sherlock … I understand there's been a bit of a problem with Dr. Denis."

"A _bit?"_ Mike shook his head, huffing a laugh. "You must have got the story from Sherlock. It's a good thing Larry is relatively easy-going or Sherlock would be banned, if not for life, then for a period long enough to hurt."

"I know he took a liver."

"Taking the liver without permission was one thing. Refusing to admit he was in the wrong is another thing entirely," Mike said. "I smoothed it over with Larry, but Sherlock can't do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, even though we've always accepted a certain amount of rule-breaking since he's, well, _Sherlock."_

"Should I talk to Dr. Denis?"

Mike pursed his lips, thinking. "I don't think it would make the situation worse. Maybe it would help since you understand Sherlock better than anyone else around here."

Molly smiled drily, "Yes, lucky me." She tapped the Talbot chart against her thigh a few times, then turned to go. "Thanks, Mike."

"By the way … I like the labcoat, Dr. _Holmes."_

Molly glanced back from the doorway, flushing a bit. "A present from Mycroft."

"Thoughtful," he said, grinning mischievously, then flapped a hand at her. "On your way then."

Molly stopped by the lab on the way to the morgue and found Sherlock sitting at his favorite microscope station. He looked up when she came to stand beside him.

"About time you got here."

"Sorry, Sherlock, but it's going to be awhile longer. I need to get this PM done first -" Molly broke off when he plucked the chart from her hand. _"Sherlock!"_

"Why are you wasting time on this," he muttered after scanning the first two pages. He looked up when she didn't say anything, then studied her expression for several moments before snorting derisively. "Don't be ridiculous – you don't need any refresher."

"That's funny – just yesterday you suggested I'd lost my skill with a scalpel."

He waved a hand dismissively at that and tossed the chart on the table. "Come look at this."

"Can't right now - I need to get on with the PM," she said. "I'll check back with you when I'm through." She looked up when the lab door opened and then smiled when John walked in. "Hi, stranger," she said, walking over to give him a hug. "How are Mary and Lizzie doing?"

After they'd been chatting for several minutes, Sherlock huffed loudly in annoyance. "There's something you should be doing elsewhere, Molly."

John and Molly exchanged a glance of amusement, then she left the lab with a wave at both men. "See you later."

#####

Twenty minutes later, Molly bent over Mrs. Talbot's body, paused to take a deep breath and slowly released it, then lowered the scalpel and began.


	7. Quite The Busy Little Bee

_Summary: Molly settles back in at Barts ..._

#####

Molly's first morning back at Barts passed quickly after she'd completed her first post mortem. By the time she'd met with Mike again, been brought up-to-date on Sherlock's current experiments, and worked on several toxicological analyses, it was half past eleven. She went to the locker room to remove her labcoat and clean up more carefully, then stopped by her office for her handbag and carryall before heading to the nursery. Michael and five other babies were on the floor in the middle of the room, each of them on a mat under a playgym. She walked in just as Michael batted at a toy dog with his hands, sending it swinging in a circle around the bar. He rolled his head toward the baby lying on the mat next to him and they both gurgled a laugh.

Ruth was sitting cross-legged on the floor near them, obviously encouraging their play, but got up when Molly came in. "How was your morning, Dr. Holmes?"

"Busy," Molly replied, smiling. "How's Michael been?"

Ruth turned to look down at him. "Very well, especially for a first day," she said, then looked at Molly questioningly. "Do you want to nurse him right now?"

"Yes," Molly said, then moved around the floor mat until Michael could see her. "Hello, sweetie," she said, smiling broadly when the baby gave a gurgling squeal and waved his arms and legs. She lowered herself to her knees on the mat, then set her bags down. "Let's get you out of there," she said, carefully freeing him from the playgym, then gathering him close to her chest. She pushed herself back to her feet, then stooped to pick up the bags. "Where do you want us?"

Ruth signaled one of her two assistants to take her place on the mat, then led the way across the hall to a small sitting room that had an armchair and ottoman, small sofa, side tables, and a round table with two wooden dining chairs. "Is this all right?"

"It's fine," Molly said, looking around for a few moments before she crossed to the armchair. She held Michael one-handed as she pulled the ring-sling out of the carryall and slipped it over her head, then arranged the material loosely around them before sitting down. She wasn't using it to support Michael, but simply for privacy in case someone walked in.

"Let us know if you need anything," Ruth said, then returned Molly's smile and shut the door.

Molly pulled her jumper up and unbuttoned her shirt, huffing a laugh at Michael's bright-eyed interest in each movement. Once he started nursing, she kissed his cheeks and forehead and then took his hand in hers and gently fingered its tiny bones and finally kissed the back of it. _Oh, you precious, precious boy,_ she thought, biting her lip and blinking back tears. She rubbed a finger under her eyes and laughed under her breath at her sudden surge of sentimentality. She kissed Michael's forehead again, then tilted her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

After several quiet minutes, Michael made a humming noise in a tone that sounded like a question, and Molly opened her eyes in surprise. He was staring at her as he nursed and made the humming noise again, which was definitely something new. When she smiled at him, his eyes brightened and the corners of his lips turned up, breaking his connection to her, but he started sucking again when Molly brushed her finger over his cheek. She then reached for the carryall and removed an apple and a bottle of water. As she sipped the water, she thought about Michael's humming and decided he'd used it to get her attention. She found every step of his development fascinating and felt a twinge at the thought of missing any milestones while she was working. What she needed to do was to meet with the nursery director again and modify her expectations … no, her _requests._

#####

Mycroft was in a lunch meeting with several Cabinet members when his phone vibrated at a quarter to one. He caught the eye of the Home Secretary and gave a minuscule tilt of his head toward the door before rising to his feet and quietly excusing himself. He answered just as the door shut behind him and continued walking down the corridor as he listened to Molly, occasionally lifting his chin in response to greetings by various officials he passed. He eventually slipped into a small withholding room and closed the door.

"I don't care for the idea of my son having a girlfriend at his age, especially an older woman almost twice his age," he murmured, then smiled to himself when Molly laughed. A twelve-month-old had taken a shine to Michael and was hovering around him to the extent a baby that age could hover.

"Ruth said they'd sort it before the children are old enough to run away with each other," Molly said, laughing under her breath. "No, really … Michael was doing so well when I arrived – playing and laughing – and he seemed quite happy when I returned him to the babies' room after lunch." She paused for a moment, then continued more briskly, "I'm sure you need to go, darling. We can talk more tonight."

"Give Walter a call when you're ready to leave."

"I will. See you later."

As Mycroft walked to the Cabinet room, he thought of Molly's description of Michael's experiences that morning and the corners of his lips turned up – not much, but recognizably a smile so that the passing Health Secretary smiled when Mycroft's gaze unintentionally met his. Mycroft nodded in response, suppressing a scowl at having to acknowledge the bloody bastard. That's what he got for allowing even a fleeting pleasant thought to enter the cheerless corridors of Whitehall.

#####

Molly's afternoon turned out to be rather routine as she easily moved from one thing to another and completed her assigned duties. Several staff members she'd been friendly with, if not actually friends outside of work, stopped by to welcome her back, but otherwise the afternoon was uneventful. At half past five, Molly went to the locker room to freshen up, then called Walter shortly afterwards when she walked into the nursery. Picking up Michael took a bit more time than dropping him off had since several other parents were there and introduced themselves. Molly felt obliged to chat a bit with each of them, but finally escaped by saying her ride would be waiting and Michael would be ready to nurse soon.

Walter was leaning against the car when she came out of the nursery, and Molly started apologizing as she crossed the pavement. "It's all right, Mrs. Holmes," he said, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand. "Let me take your bags."

As Molly started to climb into the car, the nursery director passed by, calling, "Good night, Dr. Holmes. We'll see you tomorrow." Molly returned the greeting, then got in the car, sitting sideways as she strapped Michael into the car seat. She turned around and buckled her belt, then noticed Walter was looking at her in the rearview mirror. "Everything all right, Walter?"

"Should I be calling you _Doctor_ Holmes?"

"No, Walter – Mrs. Holmes or Miss Molly or Molly is just fine. _Doctor_ Holmes does sound odd," Molly continued with a smile. "I've decided to go by Holmes at work as well as outside of work because of Michael. It's old-fashioned, I'm sure, but I'd like us all to use the same name."

Molly looked out the window at the people hurrying along the pavement, most likely to catch their transportation home, and thought that was one thing she certainly wouldn't miss. She was grateful to be traveling with Walter instead of fighting the crowds on the tube or waiting at bus queues – not that using public transportation had ever been a real consideration now that she had Michael. The additional stress doing that would have caused Mycroft was almost unimaginable.

Molly gently squeezed Michael's knee as she peeked at him around the edge of the car seat, which caused him to erupt in giggles. Molly glanced at Walter in the mirror and noticed the crinkled skin at the corner of his eyes. The baby's laughter was definitely infectious.

One day back at work, one day dealing with the nursery, hardly justified the level of happiness Molly felt at being home and carrying Michael downstairs after they'd both had a bath. Yet everything was such a pleasure … from sharing the baby's latest attempts with solid food to performing the necessary clean-up afterwards … from guiding the hour of noisy playtime to settling down for the quiet hour of nursing and reading Michael to sleep … then that burst of renewed energy when Mycroft arrived home, the quiet sharing of their late evening meal, their eventual coming together in the middle of the big bed …

#####

 _Establishing A Routine …_

Wednesday morning was similar in timing to the previous day, but then the Holmes family members separated at their front door – Molly and Michael departing for Barts with Andrew after a rather noisy and lingering leave-taking, and Mycroft watching the other car pass through the front gate, then glancing at an equally amused Walter before climbing into the back seat to head toward Whitehall.

Molly had just settled on a stool in the lab when Greg Lestrade came through the laboratory door, paused for a moment as he glanced around the room, then made a beeline for her work station. Molly rose to her feet just in time to be engulfed by a warm bear hug from her favorite copper … one of her favorite _people_ , actually.

"Now _that's_ a proper greeting," she said with a laugh when he finally let her go. "But tell me … are you truly happy to see _me_ or is it simply the relief of having me back to serve as a buffer against Sherlock."

"Both actually, if I'm forced to be honest," Greg said with a sheepish grin. "So, Molly … how's it been to be back?"

"It's only been a day, Greg," Molly said, deadpan, then continued more cheerfully, "but, yeah … so far it's been good, really good." She turned back to her work station, moved a pipette farther from the table's edge, then picked up her postmortem list. "Are you here for a case?" She looked up at Greg after flipping through the pages. "None of these seem worthy of a visit from my favorite Detective Inspector."

He turned to lean against the work table, then crossed his arms with a sigh. "Nah … I was literally in the area and thought of you so decided to drop in for a few minutes."

"Thanks for thinking of me, Greg," Molly said with a smile.

#####

Other than the visit from Greg, Molly's second day back was mostly routine, but a routine made up of work she loved so there was much satisfaction and enjoyment to be found in it. But once again the real happiness came with picking up Michael and returning home to get on with their own routine ... and then her pleasure at least doubled once Mycroft came through the door.

Before Molly knew it she was preparing to walk out of Barts on Thursday afternoon, her third and last workday for the week. Considering how well the three days had gone overall, both at work and home, Molly fleetingly considered telling Mike Stamford that she'd return to full-time status as soon as he could arrange it ..., but no. She'd wanted the delay to continue to focus her attention on Michael at home. The fourth of January would be soon enough to change their family routine again.

Molly checked the time as she took her handbag out of her desk drawer ... _5:35._ She locked the desk and quickly grabbed her carryall, then hurried down the corridor and through the hospital exit just as Sherlock and John got out of a black cab.

"Ah, Molly," Sherlock said, his coat swirling around his knees as he strode toward her, then wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and turned her back the way she'd just come.

 _"_ _STOP!"_ Molly took advantage of Sherlock's surprise at her sudden yell to pull her arm from his grasp. She shifted her bags onto one shoulder, then grabbed his arm with her free hand _. "You_ … come with me." Molly looked past him. "Hi, John. You come with me as well."

Sherlock allowed Molly to pull him a few steps before forcing her to stop. "What are you _doing?"_

Molly tugged on his arm and huffed in annoyance when he wouldn't move. "I have to pick up Michael, and it's a good idea for them to know you at the nursery in case we ever need you to pick up him," she said, then paused for a moment and glanced at John, who'd come to a stop alongside her. "Well … perhaps letting them _'know'_ Sherlock ahead of time isn't such a great idea. I don't want Michael to be struck off their list."

Sherlock scoffed. "Yes, very funny … but we don't have time for this. I need you in the lab."

Molly scowled at him, then gasped. _"I'm_ the one who doesn't have time for this. _Come on_ … we're going to be late!"

"We better go with her, Sherlock," John said as he started down the pavement ahead of them, then glanced back. "Come on."

Sherlock's scowl put Molly's to shame as he freed his arm. "Oh, for _god's_ sake. All right, let's go," and with that he took off at a fast pace down the street. Molly's eyes met John's, then she gave an undignified _"whoop!"_ and ran after her brother-in-law.

Fifteen minutes after entering the nursery, they spilled out of the front door with Michael and onto the pavement _en masse_ , and the high pitch of the three adults' raised voices caused passers-by to stop and gawk ... and Walter to straighten in alarm.

"Just shut up, Sherlock!" John's level of discourse had rapidly descended as the level of hysteria inside the nursery rose.

"You couldn't let it go, could you!" Molly hitched Michael higher against her chest, then poked her forefinger in Sherlock's tender middle section. "I _told_ you not to _say_ anything!"

Sherlock winced as he pushed her finger away, surprisingly gently all things considered. "So you want your son to be looked after by a -"

 _"_ _SHUT UP, SHERLOCK!"_ Molly broke in, swiftly glancing around, then sighed in relief when she saw Walter hurrying across the pavement toward them. "Come on," she said, lowering her voice when she noticed the people staring at them. "We'll drop you off."

"We need to go to Barts," Sherlock insisted.

"Fine," Molly said, handing her bags to Walter.

"I need _you_ back at Barts as well, Molly," Sherlock said.

"And I'll be there at half past eight Monday morning," she said, then turned to go.

"Wait a minute – can't you come now?"

Molly stared incredulously at her brother-in-law, then arched her brows and pointed at Michael. "Do you see your nephew here?" Sherlock flicked a look at Michael, then met Molly's gaze again, widening his eyes beseechingly and giving her his most mesmerizing stare. _The one he probably practices in the mirror_ , she thought. "I have to get Michael home, Sherlock. Babies need to keep to a schedule, and it's almost time for his supper."

Sherlock dropped his gaze to the front of Molly's jumper, then quickly met her eyes again as a touch of pink darkened his cheeks. "Couldn't you just … um –"

"No, I couldn't," Molly snapped. "He eats some solid food for supper now." She turned to John. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Can you deal with him?" John lifted his chin and gave her a smile. "Thanks, John."

Molly was halfway across the pavement when Sherlock called after her. "I am not a child for John to deal with!"

"You could have fooled me," she called back, then climbed into the car and quickly strapped Michael into the car seat as Walter shut the door behind them. "Your uncle is impossible," she told Michael, who simply grinned at her and waved all four limbs. "Yes, well … you don't know him yet." Molly looked out the window as she settled against the seat, watching Sherlock stride down the pavement and John quickstep to catch up.

As Walter pulled into the traffic, Molly leaned her head against the back of the seat, recalling the scene in the nursery ... then the scene outside the nursery. After a few minutes, her smile turned into a huffing laugh, and then she was bent over, holding her stomach, while she guffawed. She finally got control of herself, but when she met Walter's eyes in the rearview mirror, she was off again.

#####

"I understand there was a bit of commotion at the nursery this evening," Mycroft said absent-mindedly as he flipped through the mail on his desk later that evening. He glanced up when Molly didn't reply.

"Just a bit," she agreed, lowering her eyes to her hands and thus missing the twitch of Mycroft's lips. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She quickly looked up when Mycroft snorted.

"It was more of an uproar than a bit of commotion, I think." Mycroft rested his elbows on the desk and rubbed both temples before clasping his hands together and propping his chin on them. "What was Sherlock doing there?"

"If you know about the 'uproar,' then surely you know that." He just raised his brows. _"I_ made him go. He caught me when I was leaving the hospital and wanted me to go back to the lab. Instead I had him and John come with me to the nursery." She shrugged. "In case we ever need him to pick up Michael."

"I think that option's off the table. He'd probably be thrown out." He unclasped his hands, then straightened his fingers in the familiar steeple position and pressed their tips against his chin. "Just tell me one thing: Did the woman quit?"

"No … she threatened to sue Sherlock for defamation of character."

"Ah," he said thoughtfully, then leaned back in his chair. "Don't worry, my dear. It's already been smoothed over."

"Then why did you ask me about it?"

"For the sheer pleasure of having you tell me. Based on the CCTV footage, I'm just surprised the three of you didn't come to blows," he said, then threw his head back and laughed. "Another _sex worker,"_ he finally said, still chuckling. "At least this one wasn't a _fugitive_ sex worker. Or a threat to national security."

Molly glared at him. "You _git_ – you had me worried for a moment."

"I'm sorry, my dear," he said, leaning forward to offer his hand, palm up. "I simply couldn't resist."

Molly glared at him a few moments longer, then her expression lightened. "You're forgiven," she said, placing her palm over his, and smiled when he threaded their fingers together. "After all, I did have quite a laugh in the car on the way home." She laughed again thinking about it. "Oh god, Mycroft - you should have _seen_ Sherlock's face when the room was in full uproar. Staff members were yelling at him, babies were crying ...," she said, chuckling when Mycroft grimaced at the thought. "Poor Sherlock ...," she added sorrowfully before their eyes met in shared amusement.

After a few moments, Mycroft rubbed his thumb over the back of Molly's hand and arched a brow. "Shall we have an early night?"

"Oh yes," she said, squeezing his hand. "Please."


	8. Dear Lord (title cont)

**[*full chapter title ...]**

 ***Dear Lord ... We're Not Gonna Have Christmas Phone Calls Now, Are We?**

 _#####_

 _And Then It Was December …_

As the weeks passed, Molly was thrilled to witness Michael's continuing development, both mentally and physically; however, she wouldn't be sorry if he lost interest soon in throwing and dropping things for her to retrieve. She understood he was exploring what he could do and that it must be exciting to be able to pick up something and then let it go – whether passively with the loosening of his fingers or more actively with a quick toss – but, frankly, she was getting tired of stooping over. _Middle-age creep,_ she thought, and at not quite thirty-seven.

Michael was gradually eating more solid food, and his progress was mostly determined by him. Molly placed fist-sized bites on his highchair tray, then sat beside him while he chose what he wanted. She'd slip in a spoonful of fortified cereal or a pureed vegetable or fruit from time to time, but only if he showed interest. Michael was still nursing four or five times a day and, according to his pediatrician, was getting everything he needed through her milk and vitamin supplements.

Their morning and afternoon playtimes on Molly's days off were becoming more active as well. The next big milestone was crawling and Michael was already showing signs of that day being close. He'd started shuffling on his bottom when he wanted something he couldn't reach and, during tummy time, he was now able to push himself up onto all fours and rock backwards and forwards. He hadn't gone so far as to lift either hand off the floor while doing so, but Molly figured it was only a matter of days.

One of his favorite toys was an old-fashioned jack-in-the-box and, like most babies, he'd jump and laugh every time the clown popped out. After ten minutes of it, Molly would be thoroughly sick and tired of turning the crank, so she'd quickly learned to distract Michael and hide the jack-in-the-box when she'd had enough. Pat-a-cake and peek-a-boo were usually acceptable substitutes, but even ten minutes of happy clapping was tiring. She wondered if other parents her age worried about whether they'd be able to keep up with a seven-month-old. So when Michael went down for his afternoon nap, Molly would spend time in the gym.

 _Second Saturday of December …_

Molly supported Michael under his armpits as he bounced more enthusiastically where he was standing on her thigh. Walter had positioned the car so that their window was facing the place where the private jet had just come to a stop. "Your daddy's home," Molly repeated in an excited tone and jiggled him on her knee. "He'll be coming out of the plane any minute," she added, pointing at its door. She knew the baby didn't understand what she was saying, except possibly "daddy," which was enough to make him quite excited.

A few minutes later, the plane's door slowly opened and the airstairs were lowered to the ground. Andrew came out first, then a group of four men – Mycroft and three others milling around him – debarked. Mycroft was wearing his most impassive expression and one of his dark suits covered by a dark overcoat and carrying his umbrella and briefcase. She could see that he was talking as the group stepped onto the tarmac and stood in a small circle. One of the men said something to Mycroft, who answered briefly before glancing toward Walter where he was leaning against the front passenger door. Mycroft looked back at the other men and gestured toward their cars, then inclined his chin in a quick nod and turned to start walking to the car.

Molly didn't think Mycroft would want the others to see Michael so she waited until he was only a couple of metres away before pushing the door open, then quickly shifted toward the center of the seat, holding a still-bouncing Michael on her thigh. Mycroft bent his head to look in the car, then smiled with eyes only before dropping lightly onto the seat beside them and placing his umbrella and briefcase on the floor by his feet. Michael made a noise that sounded like a grunting squeal and lurched toward his father, and Molly let him go when Mycroft caught him around the waist.

Molly felt giddy with excitement and anticipation and … _relief,_ and leaned her head against the back of the seat as she watched the two of them. Mycroft kissed Michael's cheek and settled the baby against his chest, gave a tug to his trousers before crossing his legs, and finally met her eyes. "So," he said, arching a brow, "did you miss me?"

"Hardly knew you were gone," she coolly replied with a lift of a brow, then glanced out the window as Walter passed by carrying Mycroft's bags. "I've been way too busy these past seven days, four hours, and …," she paused to check her phone just as the boot slammed shut behind them, "thirty-two minutes." After several moments passed in silence, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced down in time to see Mycroft place his free hand, palm up, on the seat between them. She laid her hand atop his much larger one, and he threaded their fingers together.

"How did Michael do this week?"

"Fine," Molly said with a smile. "Dr. Miller's daughter is still hovering around Michael and now she's bringing him toys. She even took some things away from the other babies to give to him, which of course made them cry, but Ruth is working with her to stop that."

"And what did _you_ do while I was away? Besides working and taking care of Michael."

 _Tried to hide my pining for you,_ Molly thought, holding Mycroft's gaze for several seconds, then tilted her head and smiled. "I kept busy … you might think _too_ busy when you see the house." When he looked at her questioningly, she continued, "Mrs. C and I spent some time decorating for Christmas."

"I'm sure whatever you've done is fine, but I'd assumed you wouldn't bother too much with decorating since we're spending Christmas at The Cottage and Michael's too young to get excited by it," he said.

"But only Christmas Eve and Day there," she said. "Since you aren't as put off by Christmas as you used to be," she paused, raising her brows at him, "I wanted us to be able to enjoy some festive trappings at home. Michael may be too young to understand what's going on, but he's seemed excited by all of the lights and smells."

"All of the – Molly, just how much _have_ you decorated?"

"Not that much … really," she assured him, but surreptitiously crossed the fingers of her free hand. They were distracted at that point by Walter getting into the driver's seat. Mycroft carefully maneuvered a still excited Michael into his car seat, and then Mycroft and Molly spent most of the relatively short journey home being entertained by and reacting to their son's antics, including his recently acquired ability to clap his hands when he wanted to instead of making contact occasionally on a hit-and-miss basis. Michael seemed mesmerized by the sight of his hands coming together and was still startled by the resulting noise. He looked at Mycroft in delight when his father mimicked him and then turned toward Molly, gurgling with laughter, when she clapped her hands as well.

When Walter turned the car through the front gate, Molly stared ahead of them until she could clearly see the front door, then looked at Mycroft, waiting for his reaction to the large noble fir wreath. She'd thought the pine cones, berries, cinnamon sticks, and single golden bow decorating the fresh greenery were elegant enough and that the wreath smelled divine, but he might consider the few small jingling bells too much.

Mycroft saw the wreath as soon as they started down the drive and automatically suppressed a grimace to avoid hurting Molly's feelings, but then a strange thing happened as the car came to a stop. Mycroft took a few moments to study the effect of the greenery against the solid solemnity of the glossy, black door and the crisp white woodwork that surrounded it – and rapidly recalled the inroads Molly had made over the past two Christmases on his usual negativity toward the occasion. He abruptly realized his reaction had been more instinctive than a true reflection of his feelings. _Never say Mycroft Holmes can't learn from experience,_ he thought fleetingly before meeting Molly's anxious eyes. "I can't think why I haven't had a wreath before," he said dryly, then slowly smiled at her obvious relief.

Walter opened the car door and Molly shifted along the seat, leaving Mycroft to unbuckle Michael's car seat. He bent to retrieve his umbrella and briefcase and passed them to Molly before backing out of the car on the other side. He straightened and looked over the roof of the car when the front door opened with a cheery jingling of bells. Molly's head turned quickly toward him, a hint of anxiety returning to her expression, and he gave her another brief smile. The sound of the bells had momentarily tested his newly achieved equanimity, but it was enough for him that they made Molly happy. He did, however, brace himself for what else might await his reaction beyond the front door.

Mycroft greeted Mrs. Collingwood as he followed Molly into the warmth of the front hall, then lowered the car seat to the floor. He crouched down to unstrap Michael, then rose to his feet. From his position near the door, Mycroft could see the end of the fir garland wound round the bottom newel post of the staircase. And the house simply _smelled_ like Christmas – the natural woodsy aromas from the fir wreath, staircase garlands, and most assuredly a tree, though he'd yet to see it; the spicy hint of cinnamon that lingered from the wreath even with the door now shut; the mouth-watering scents of mince pies and gingerbread. He tilted his head as he considered the smell of firewood coming from the sitting room and, he thought, his study as well. His brows flicked upwards when he detected the scent of cherry wood, rather than the ash logs they commonly used.

Molly removed her coat and scarf, then reached for Michael so Mycroft could remove his. She kissed the crown of the baby's head while carefully eyeing her husband's expression, wondering what he was thinking about the changes since he was last home.

Mycroft hung his coat on its hook, then put his hand on Molly's back as they walked down the hall. She slowed at the second open door and he glanced at her before turning them into the sitting room and crossing to the large fir. The tip of it almost touched the high ceiling and he wondered who'd been responsible for decorating those uppermost branches. He turned in a circle, taking in the fairy lights and greenery on the mantel and the centerpiece on the coffee table with more fir boughs, pine cones, berries, shiny baubles and candles. What then caught his attention was the hopeful look in Molly's eyes and Michael's wide-eyed interest as he stared fixedly at the tree.

Mycroft stepped closer to Molly and slid his arm around her back as they both looked around the room. "It's lovely, my dear," he said, then turned to meet her eyes. "And Michael certainly seems to be delighted with the changes."

"He loves the twinkling lights," she said, then kissed the baby's cheek. "I know he doesn't understand any of it, but he seems enthralled by all the colors and textures of the decorations – but mostly the lights."

"How about some tea, then you can show me the rest of it," he said, turning her with him toward the door.

"About that …," she said hesitantly. "You might not –"

"It'll all be fine," he said, glancing down at her with a smile, "unless you've put a tree in my study."

 _Oh god,_ she thought, letting him usher her to the kitchen.

# # #

"I obviously lost my mind temporarily," Molly said, finally breaking the silence since Mycroft seemed too dumbstruck to speak. "We can move it."

He walked further into his study and Molly slowly followed, biting her lip as she looked past him at the Christmas tree on the corner of his desk. The Christmas tree on the corner of his desk in a bright red bucket. The Christmas tree on the corner of his desk in a bright red bucket and oh-so-cheerfully lit with twinkling strands of multi-colored lights.

She turned her head to the right and suppressed a groan at the fairy lights and fir boughs on the mantel. _Oh god, what was I thinking?_

Mycroft turned around and gave Molly a smile. "No, it's fine."

Molly set the baby monitor on a side table, then moved closer and slid her hands around his neck. "I'm sorry, Mycroft," she said, "I got carried away …"

She muffled a moan when Mycroft cupped his left hand around her right hip to pull her lower half flush against him, then stifled a squeak when he dipped her upper half over his right forearm … and she watched, wide-eyed and flushed, as his face moved closer, his eyes slowly studying every millimetre of her face before they met hers and became all the world … and the moment stretched out and she waited, breath held, for the touch of his lips … until finally he arched a brow and again asked, his low, husky rumble causing the fine hairs on her body to stand to attention … "So, did you miss me?"

 _"_ _Oh my god yes –"_

#####

 _The following Saturday …_

Molly hurried downstairs after putting Michael to bed for his afternoon nap and almost ran into Richie Collingwood at the bottom of the stairs. Their back-and-forth, side-to-side steps to avoid a collision left them laughing as they clutched each other's arms to keep from falling.

"What's so funny?"

Richie released Molly and slung an arm around his husband's shoulders. "Just exhibiting my usual grace of movement and lightness of foot."

"Which one," Sam asked, "your left foot or your left foot?"

"Yeah, all right," Richie said, dropping his arm. "At least I avoided trampling Molly under one or both of my two left feet."

Molly laughed at Sam's eye roll. "Is your mum in the kitchen?"

"I think she's still packing," Richie said, "or re-packing. She keeps changing her mind about what clothes to take."

"Should I offer to help or –"

"I'd leave her," Sam said. "I just came from the flat and she needs some quiet time to make her choices. At least, that's what she said when I offered to help."

"I was on my way to make some tea," Molly said. "Would you like to join me?" She led the way to the kitchen and set the baby monitor on the worktop before putting the kettle on. The three of them sat on stools at the island and Molly looked from Sam to Richie. "Are you both ready to leave?" Their flight was scheduled to depart just after seven that evening and, after a stop in Singapore, would arrive in Sydney early Monday morning.

"Other than tossing our toothbrushes in my carry-on," Sam said. He waved Molly back to her stool when she started to get up to prepare the tea.

Molly watched Sam cross the kitchen, then turned back to Richie. "Do you have any special plans other than to spend time with your brother's family?"

The three of them lingered over tea while talking about several side trips his brother, David, had arranged for the visitors, most of which involved Australia's exotic wildlife and/or exotic scenery. Mrs. Collingwood, Richie and Sam would be Down Under for just over two weeks, and to describe the housekeeper as excited was quite an understatement. She'd been very grateful but composed when Mycroft and Molly told her about the Christmas gift in July and had stayed relatively composed for the next four months. Although Richie and Sam only lived about five miles away, in Islington, they'd spent the previous night at the Holmes home to ensure an easy departure for the airport and to help keep Mrs. Collingwood calm.

Three hours later, Mycroft and Molly stood on the front steps watching as Walter pulled away and started down the drive. Once the car went through the gate, they walked back into the house, shut the front door, and turned to look at each other as the silence settled around them. When Michael cooed, Molly huffed a laugh and reached to take him from Mycroft. "Is it too quiet for you, sweetie?"

Mycroft slid an arm around Molly's waist as they walked down the hall and turned toward the kitchen. "I suppose this is my domain for the next two weeks," she said, looking around as she jiggled Michael from side to side.

"Ours," Mycroft corrected, then looked down at her. "We can still get a temporary housekeeper to come in. Anthea has a list of several people who've been properly vetted."

"Two adults should be able to fend for themselves for two weeks, especially since the cleaning service takes care of the big stuff," Molly said. "I'm actually looking forward to doing a bit of cooking and housekeeping."

"And taking care of Michael and working at Barts?"

"And worshipping your body with mine on a regular basis, yes," she added, with a slow smile. "Other people can handle it, and so can I."

"I'll help," he said.

"Be sure to tell the Home Secretary it's your turn to hoover if he calls," she said drily.

"I'm pretty sure hoovering falls within the duties of the cleaning service," he said, "but I can prepare breakfast."

"And I'll be happy to eat it whenever your schedule permits," she said.

#####

 _Sunday morning …_

"Mycroft …"

"Yes …"

Molly swallowed thickly, then pressed her lips together and took a shuddery breath through her nose. Mycroft shifted his weight enough to allow more air to flow between them. "Thanks," she muttered, then took a gulping breath. "Can you feel your feet?"

"Thankfully yes," he said, drawing another deep breath through his nose. "Otherwise we'd be on the floor."

"Well, mine are numb."

Mycroft huffed a rather breathless laugh and lifted a palm off the wall to reach behind him and rub her foot. "Can you feel that?"

 _"_ _Mmm."_

"Hold on," he said as he slid his hand from Molly's foot to her bottom and pushed away from the wall one-handed. He straightened, then cupped a second hand under her bottom and hitched her higher against him as he turned around to lean against the wall.

"I feel supremely decadent," Molly said as she set her chin on Mycroft's bare shoulder and stared at the rich wood paneling. She tentatively flexed her feet against the wall and then lifted her head to look at him. "This was not the workout I intended."

"Nor I, but I imagine it's been as effective as a half hour on the treadmill," he said wryly.

Molly dropped her chin back on his shoulder. "At least that."

They stayed pressed together for a while longer, then Mycroft turned his head to nudge Molly's cheek. "Are you ready to get down?"

"Must I?"

"Our son is likely to wake up soon, and we desperately need a shower," he said.

The mention of Michael was all it took for Molly to lift her head. Mycroft slid his hands from her bottom to her waist and supported her weight as she unhooked her ankles and then slowly lowered her legs. When they were fully straightened, she looked at Mycroft and snorted. "I still can't touch the floor."

"Sorry," he said, loosening his hands so she could slide the rest of the way down his body. He kept hold of her until she had her balance, then dropped his hands.

Molly stooped to pick up her knickers and glanced around the gym. The rest of her clothes were in a pile on the floor by the stair stepper. Mycroft's were in a trail from the treadmill to where he still stood leaning against the wall. She stepped into the scrap of silk and lace, then ran her eyes over Mycroft, from his feet to the top of his head. "The evidence of what happened here is quite obvious."

"We had sex," he said, deadpan.

"Yes, thank you, Mycroft." She turned to look at the exercise equipment. "No, my clothes came off first. Yours on the other hand," she said as she turned back to him, "came off in stages. It's clear who seduced whom."

"There was never any question about that."

"Right, I seduced you."

"No, I overwhelmed you with my sex appeal. You simply can't resist me in workout gear."

Molly stared at him thoughtfully, then walked over to stand in front of him. She lifted her hand and cupped the side of his throat, then slowly slid her palm to the center of his chest where she paused for a moment before sliding it lower.

"Molly, it's not possible –"

 _"_ _Hmm?"_ Her fingers rubbed a circle over his lower belly, then slid even lower. "Well, well … what do we have here."

Mycroft straightened away from the wall, wrapped his hands around Molly's upper arms, and tensed his muscles as he started to lift her … and then they both twisted to look at the baby monitor when Michael cooed and started babbling to himself.

Molly dropped her hand from Mycroft and quickly crossed the room to pull on her jumper and sweatpants. She stooped to pick up her shoes and socks, grabbed the monitor and hurried to the door, where she stopped and turned back. Mycroft had already put his sweatpants on and was turning the matching top right side out. "To be continued later?"

He looked up and met her eyes. "It's a date."

Molly turned away and ran toward the front hall and then up the stairs. When she swung Michael's bedroom door open, he was happily "talking" to himself as he crawled across the cot's mattress. _Crawled_ , she thought. _"MYCROFT…,"_ she yelled, startling Michael and causing him to flop on his bottom and stare at her. "Michael's _crawling!"_

#####

 _Twenty-Third of December …_

Molly waited for Michael to swallow the spoonful of pureed carrot, then looked at Mycroft, who'd arrived home much earlier than she expected and was now leaning against the kitchen island watching them. "I haven't started cooking," she said. "I wasn't expecting you until half past seven at the earliest."

Mycroft shifted his position and crossed his ankles. "That's good since I've made dinner plans for us."

"Dinner?" Molly's gaze switched between him and Michael.

"Sherlock's agreed to look after Michael for a few hours," Mycroft said.

 _"_ _Sherlock?"_

"Needs must," he said drily, then continued more seriously. "When Michael's finished nursing, I'll put him to bed. You'll need to wear clothes that will be warm enough in the night air."

"Why?"

"It's a surprise," he said.

"But where are we going?"

Mycroft huffed in exasperation. "Did you miss the part where I said it's a surprise?"

"I suppose it'll be all right," she said slowly, then smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry - I don't mean to sound unenthusiastic about whatever you have planned."

"If Michael wakes up before we're back, it won't be because he's hungry," he said. "We should be gone less than two hours." He straightened when Molly started to get up. "What do you need?"

"A warm, wet cloth to clean his face and hands," she said, then pointed. "I put some flannels in that drawer by the sink today."

Once he'd brought the cloth to her, Mycroft went to his study to finish some work. He replied to several emails, forwarded others with follow-up instructions, and returned a call from the PM, who'd needed to be assured, yet again, that the recent trip to Croatia had been a success - relatively speaking. Some situations were incapable of being resolved to their total satisfaction. He gave in to the urge to roll his eyes and sighed loudly, then powered off his laptop and went to see what Molly and Michael were doing.

Michael was playing with some toys on the tray of his highchair, and Molly was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, drinking a glass of orange juice, when Mycroft walked in. "Would you like some juice? Or a cup of tea?"

"Tea, but I'll make it," Mycroft said, then rested his hands on Molly's shoulders as he brushed his lips over the top of her head. Just that easily, he could create such a sense of intimacy and tenderness between them, and Molly didn't know if he was even aware of the full effect of his simple gesture.

Molly had just finished nursing Michael when Sherlock arrived, so she quickly adjusted her clothing and lifted Michael to her shoulder. Mycroft strode into the kitchen ahead of his brother, and Molly had to cough to cover her amusement at their expressions. She thought they might be going for "expressionless," but to her they both looked uncomfortable. Both of them must have suddenly realized they were in an unprecedented situation - Sherlock doing them an entirely personal favor; Mycroft entrusting Sherlock with his son's well-being. Even if Sherlock hadn't said so out loud, he loved his nephew so could hardly behave as if he resented being asked to babysit him. Mycroft loved his son so could hardly ask Sherlock to babysit and then act as if his brother was incapable of behaving responsibly.

Sherlock came to a stop beside Molly's stool and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Good evening, Molly."

Molly bit her lip at his unusually sober tone. "Good evening, Sherlock," she said lightly, then rose to her feet. She waited until Sherlock looked at her, then grasped his lapel and gave it a quick tug. He sighed dramatically, but bent to offer her his cheek. "Thank you, Sherlock. It's kind of you to help us out."

He bristled a bit at that and scowled at Mycroft before turning back to Molly. "I'm only doing it because of the leg you got me last week."

"I understand," she said, then patted his arm and looked at her husband, "but we still appreciate it … don't we, Mycroft."

Mycroft stared at Molly impassively for a few moments, then glanced at Sherlock. "Yes, of course." He ignored his brother's smirk and moved closer to reach for the baby. "You need to get ready to leave, Molly."

"All right," she said as she rose to her feet. She looked at Sherlock for a few moments, then turned to Mycroft. "You should take Sherlock with you and let him help put Michael to bed." She had to bite the inside of both cheeks when Mycroft's jaw briefly dropped before he pressed his lips together in a thin line. She then turned to Sherlock with a cheery smile. "You can take turns acting out his bedtime story."

Sherlock's jaw dropped open in astonishment. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

 _"_ _Gotcha,"_ she said, grinning at both of them. "You two work it out, but no fighting in front of Michael … or, if you must, at least argue in sweet tones."

"Molly?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Shut up."

#####

Molly wasn't sure where they were going, but recognized the area as they crossed over Battersea Bridge and then turned onto Battersea Church Road. The farther Andrew drove, the more confused she got. He slowed and signaled a turn at Bridges Court and Molly looked over other rooftops at the lights of the Crowne Plaza that shone so brightly against the dark sky. _Surely it wasn't the hotel,_ she thought. _They could have just stayed home._

Mycroft glanced at Molly out of the corner of his eye when they finally came to a stop, then raised his brows when she turned toward him. "Why are we here, Mycroft?"

"Merry Christmas, my dear." Mycroft smiled as Andrew opened the door beside her. Molly slid across the seat and got out of the car, then peered all around them, still not understanding what they were doing there. When Mycroft lifted an arm and pointed, she looked where he indicated and stared across the helipad at the black, twin-engine helicopter and the river so close beyond it. The rotor blades began to revolve very slowly, and Mycroft urged Molly forward with a hand against her back.

Molly didn't fully come out of her daze until she was settled on the backseat and Mycroft dropped into place beside her. The sides of the helicopter cabin were mostly glass so there was enough illumination from the lights outside for them to see each other. Molly noticed a couple of switches on the wall near her and on the back of the pilot's seat that apparently operated small pin lights, but she liked the intimacy of the shadows. She couldn't see the pilot at the controls or Andrew beside him because of the high backs of their seats, and the "aisle" to get from front to back was at the side of the cabin, so Mycroft and Molly were sitting in relative privacy. "I can't believe this, Mycroft," she said hoarsely, then stopped to clear her throat. "Where are we going?"

"On an adventure," he said, taking her hand. "Isn't that what you wanted for Christmas?"

Molly held her breath as the noise of the engines and vibration and whine from the rotors increased considerably. Her mouth fell open when the helicopter slowly lifted off the pad, hovered above the dark depths of The Thames, then dipped as it turned to follow the river eastward. Molly could do nothing but stare at the overwhelming beauty of London at night – not just the landmarks she recognized, both historical and new, but all the miscellaneous thousands of houses and blocks of flats and schools and businesses and streets that made up the whole, and the lights … so many lights – blue, purple, green, yellow, stark white – outlining the bridges and glowing from windows and dotting the streets … and the floodlights illuminating so many structures that she normally saw only by daylight. She found it difficult to process the images into thoughts with any clarity and certainly would never be able to do them justice with words. There was Battersea and the Cricket Ground and all of Westminster …

Molly didn't see the transfer of a long, tissue-wrapped tube between Andrew and Mycroft so was surprised when the long-stemmed white rose, tied with a ribbon of white lace, appeared before her eyes. "I didn't follow your instructions to the letter, my dear," Mycroft said. "I did get you this."

She stared at the rose wide-eyed, mouth forming an O, recalling the twin of it that Mycroft had left for her on the car seat the day before their wedding, which had also been the first anniversary of their first night together. She took the stem, then turned to smile at him, delighted at the repeat of such a romantic gesture. While still holding his gaze, she unbuckled her belt and slid along the empty seats until she could lean forward into the space beside Andrew's seat. "Eyes front, gentlemen for the next five minutes," she said loudly enough to be heard over the engines, ignoring both the appalled noise Mycroft made and the hand he put on her arm to pull her back. "No peeking, Andrew, or Mycroft may have to kill you."

"Mrs. Holmes, we don't allow any inappropriate behavior in flight –"

Molly laughed merrily when Mycroft groaned at the pilot's warning. "Don't concern yourself, Bob. My husband thinks holding hands in public is vulgar." Molly stood just enough to sidle past Mycroft, then dropped onto the seat directly behind Bob and buckled the belt. She looked at Mycroft and pointed at the seat beside her. She suppressed a laugh at the long-suffering look he gave her. If they'd been on the ground, he'd probably have left the room, but he was stuck. She pointed at the seat again, and he narrowed his eyes at her and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before unbuckling his belt and shifting over. "Thank you," she whispered, "now you can kiss me without them seeing."

Mycroft scowled most impressively, then whispered back. "I am _not_ kissing you here."

"No one will see," Molly whispered in a wheedling tone. When he continued to glare at her, she finally turned away and looked out the window. "Okay, fine." She caught her breath and leaned closer to the glass as they flew over St. Paul's and The Tower, the Gherkin and The Shard.

Mycroft, for his part, was focused on the back of Molly's head, briefly considering whether the trip had been a mistake, when Molly gave him a quick glance over her shoulder before looking out the window again. "I know I can be a nuisance."

"You can," he quietly agreed, lips twitching as that momentary twinge of regret vanished. He should have learned by then that his wife's mischievous streak was likely to break free inappropriately – or what _he_ thought inappropriate – when she was confronted with situations that made her nervous or excited. Springing such a surprise on her had probably been guaranteed to cause both.

Molly hunched a shoulder, then added, "You'd like to ring my neck sometimes."

"I would," he solemnly acknowledged, "although much less often than Sherlock's."

"But you love me anyway."

"I do," he confirmed matter-of-factly.

Molly turned fully toward Mycroft, then lowered her eyes to her hands. "I'm sorry for teasing you and making you uncomfortable in public," she said, meeting his eyes briefly before dropping her head toward her chest. "Truly."

Mycroft silently studied the crown of her head, then turned his head to look at the high backs of the front seats and listened to the noise of the engines and rotors and – _"Oh, bugger,"_ he muttered crossly, then reached for Molly. "Come here."

And then Mycroft Holmes, The Ice Man extraordinaire, was passionately kissing Molly Hooper Holmes, a (formerly mousy) pathologist, as they flew through the dark starry night, with the lights of London and all its majestic splendor spread out below them … while his maddening, but beloved brother watched over their son.

 _Life,_ she thought, _surely couldn't get any better than this._


	9. Sorry, But (title cont)

**[*full chapter title]**

 ***Sorry, But the Holiday's Over, Brother Dear**

 _[Note: This was originally published as part of the "Twelve Days of Mollcroft 2015 Collection" on Ao3. What my assigned prompt was should be obvious by the end of the chapter.]_

 _Summary:_ _Mycroft and Molly and a bit of domestic bliss, Christmas-style ... despite a visit from Sherlock_

#####

Sherlock Holmes was largely immune to the effects of a confrontation with his older brother, seeing as how frequently they occurred, and, more specifically, he was experienced with resisting Mycroft's manipulations in the latter's St. John's Wood study. But that winter evening, just a few days into the New Year, he found himself distracted by a sense of unfamiliarity with his surroundings. Changes that had occurred in small increments over the past couple of years had accelerated during the run-up to Christmas and lingered in the days since to the point that Sherlock now felt disoriented _._

The soft light of the desk lamp and the warmth and flickering glow from the fireplace created a cozy inner sanctum and helped push back the cold, foggy gloom pressing against the mullioned windows. Such warm ambience on a winter's evening wasn't uncommon for Mycroft's study despite being antithetical to the Ice Man who occupied it. But the fact that the room's usual sources of illumination were augmented by festive touches - white fairy lights glistening among fragrant fir boughs intertwined on the mantelpiece and, more surprisingly, twinkling multi-colored lights on a Christmas tree set in a bright red bucket-like stand on the corner of Mycroft's immense desk - was enough to cause Sherlock to lose focus. Then add to that the large fir tree in the sitting room, the decorated garlands wound around the staircase handrail, the over-sized, bell-jingling wreath on the front door, and so many other seasonal signs of a home close to bursting with cheerful domesticity and ... _well._ It was all a bit too much even for Sherlock's superior mind to process - and was, he thought gloomily, unquestionably ascribable to Mycroft's baffling inability to resist the charms of Molly Hooper Holmes … a/k/a The Molly Effect. With continued exposure to Molly's optimism, whimsy and light-heartedness, it was likely only a matter of time before she could have Mycroft willingly watching internet kitten videos with her … god help him.

 _"_ _Sherlock,"_ Mycroft ground out, teeth clenched, in an attempt to pull his brother back into the moment before he got lost in his so-called "Mind Palace." Mycroft grimaced at the thought.

A flicker of amusement crossed Sherlock's features and his eyes shifted to his brother as he considered just how far the high and mighty British Government had fallen. His coolly detached gaze held Mycroft's even frostier one and they fought a silent battle across Mycroft's desk, eyes narrowed, until the younger man finally spoke, curtly. "I can't."

"You _can,"_ Mycroft countered, remorselessly.

"I don't have time."

Mycroft dismissed his brother's usual divertissements with a wave of his hand. _"This_ is of national importance, brother mine."

During the subsequent pause, a faint, steady, slapping sound caught their attention. Both men glanced toward the door, then Sherlock turned and met his brother's cold, expressionless gaze with a quirked brow. As the gentle padding came closer, Mycroft's eyes flicked back to the doorway and lowered toward the floor. Sherlock's eyes followed his brother's gaze and thus missed the sudden thawing of Mycroft's expression.

Sherlock watched, bemused, as his almost eight-months-old nephew crawled through the open door and made a beeline for his father. He paused momentarily to give his uncle a gurgling, open-mouthed smile, flashing pairs of tiny white teeth centered in both bottom and upper gums, then continued crawling determinedly along the side of the desk, at which point Sherlock lost sight of him.

 _"_ _Michael!"_ Molly's alarmed shout came down the hall.

 _"_ _In here,"_ Mycroft calmly called back, swiveling his chair sideways and leaning forward as he propped his elbows on his knees. Michael rounded the desk, babbling unintelligibly to his father, and plopped onto his bottom, his steel blue eyes sparkling in the glow from the lamp and tree lights, his head tilted so far back he was in danger of falling over. He grasped Mycroft's trouser leg in one little fist, then the other, and pulled himself slowly to his feet, legs wobbling. Mycroft hovered, ready to prevent a fall, but let Michael steady himself before reaching to pick him up.

Molly, clad in jeans and red snowflake-flocked jumper and socks, slid to a stop in the doorway, ponytail swinging. "He's getting too quick. I turned away for _five seconds …"_

Mycroft sat back and, to the baby's delight, swiveled in a full circle before stopping and getting to his feet. Michael's damp palm smacked Mycroft's cheek just as the baby lurched forward and mashed their faces together, his little pink lips leaving a trail of drool across his father's chin. Mycroft hitched Michael higher in his arms and kissed the baby's forehead, smiling at Molly as she came around the desk … and quickly catching Michael before he could fling himself at her.

Once the transfer was made more carefully, Molly gathered the baby closer and turned toward Sherlock, leaning lightly against Mycroft, enjoying the warmth of his body along her back, secretly thrilled when he rested a discreet hand on her hip. "I didn't hear you come in, Sherlock," she said with a warm smile and then lowered her head to blow a raspberry against Michael's stomach.

Sherlock's lips curved in response to Michael's gurgling laugh. "Brother dear summoned me," he said, sounding duly annoyed.

"Oh?" Molly half-turned, arching a brow as she looked up at Mycroft. "Work?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with, my dear," he said, lifting a hand to free a lock of her hair from Michael's grip. "Just a minor bit of business I need little brother to handle."

Molly made a face and sidled around the desk with Michael on her hip. "We'll leave you to it then." She turned back at the door. "Would you like me to make some hot chocolate?"

Mycroft glanced at his brother, then inclined his head with a brief smile. "Thank you, Molly." Once she'd vanished down the hall, Mycroft's mouth firmed and he turned back to Sherlock. "I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. It should require very little of your time."

"One of the most useless hereditary peers in the House of Lords chooses to jump to his death and that's of national importance?"

"Frankly, little brother, I wouldn't care if there'd been _ten_ lords a-leaping off Tower Bridge," Mycroft paused, a rueful smile lifting the corners of his lips when Sherlock huffed a mocking laugh. "Yes, well … Molly's been singing Christmas carols _ad infinitum."_ He rolled his eyes, then continued more soberly, "But the death matters to a very old friend of mine."

"So how _is_ Her Majesty?" Sherlock asked flippantly.

 _"_ _Sherlock,"_ Mycroft chided. "We _both_ know it was suicide, the public knows it was suicide, even the –" He broke off with a long-suffering look, then sighed. "However worthless he may have been, the man was a peer of the realm and a blood relative to some of the highest in the land, so give it a quick look, would you, so I can assure … others that nothing untoward contributed to his death." He paused, then his lip curled in a sneer. "For some unfathomable reason, and despite certain irrefutable evidence to the contrary, Her Majesty believes you to be _reliable,_ and your confirmation of an unassisted, unprovoked suicide would settle her mind."

"And she couldn't 'rely' on you?"

"To the highest extent possible, while making allowances for any potential internal or external crises that may arise, my attention is to remain focused on enjoying my first family Christmas, right through to Twelfth Night," Mycroft said evenly.

"Ah," Sherlock said, lips pursed as he rested his chin on his steepled fingers and studied his brother more closely. He slowly smiled as he realized that that privately issued royal command - if it had indeed been such - hadn't fallen short of his brother's own personal inclinations if he'd been given the choice.

"Right," Mycroft said briskly, deliberately breaking eye contact as he got to his feet. "The hot chocolate should be ready by now. What say we join Molly and Michael in the kitchen?" As he rounded the desk and started toward the door, he paused briefly. "Besides, your nephew has a new skill to show off."

Sherlock followed Mycroft out of the study and down the hall, then stopped short, wincing, when the jarring clang of a wooden spoon striking a pot rang out. Mycroft glanced sideways, suppressing his own flinch. "Pity you didn't bring your violin," he said drily, then waggled his finger. "Come on, little brother."

Molly was pouring hot chocolate into three Christmas-themed mugs when the brothers walked in. Sherlock dropped onto a stool at the kitchen island, wincing again at the cacophony of drumming clangs and a happily squealing nephew, and watched as Mycroft stooped and in one smooth move swept Michael off the floor and spun him in a circle while avoiding being hit by the wooden spoon he continued to wave in the air. Sherlock snorted, but was secretly impressed by his brother's deftness and grateful for the relative peace that resulted from it.

Molly looked up with a smile when Mycroft leaned against the worktop beside her. She carefully pried the wooden spoon from Michael's grip and then, without thinking, lifted onto her toes to give Mycroft a kiss … and jerked back, blushing, when Sherlock gagged dramatically behind them. For a moment she'd forgotten her brother-in-law was there and assumed Mycroft had as well since he'd done nothing to avoid the kiss. He was now staring at Sherlock as coolly as ever, just as if the tips of his ears weren't red. He didn't flinch when Michael suddenly patted his cheek, but instead took the little hand in his own to press a noisy kiss against the palm and smiled at his son's giggles, all the while holding Sherlock's gaze.

 _Like two dogs getting ready to fight,_ Molly thought, rolling her eyes as she put the mugs and biscuit barrel on a tray and carried it to the island. "Sherlock," she said lightly, sliding his hot chocolate toward him and offering him the biscuits. When Mycroft followed and sat on the stool next to hers, Molly set his hot chocolate in front of him and took Michael, who'd begun to fuss. She excused herself and returned after several minutes carrying the baby chest-to-chest in a colorful ring sling, its long, loose tail of material tossed over his head and her shoulder, which provided privacy and allowed her to keep at least one hand free while nursing. She sat on the stool and lifted her mug, eyeing her husband and brother-in-law as she sipped. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

Mycroft's lips twisted as he looked at her. "Sherlock is showing his usual intransigence in response to a simple request that he utilize a small amount of his valuable time –" He broke off at the rude noise his brother made and raised his brows at Molly.

Molly looked from Mycroft to Sherlock and sighed. "You usually end up agreeing to take Mycroft's cases in the end. It would be a lot easier on all of us, Sherlock, if you'd do so now and get whatever it is over with."

Sherlock studied Molly as he bit into a Bourbon cream, chewed it slowly, then swallowed. "I need another hand. Left preferably."

Molly stared back at him, thinking, as she took another sip of hot chocolate. "I'm not on duty again until Wednesday."

"That doesn't mean you can't drop in at Barts before then," he countered, holding her gaze.

"So if I get you a hand, left preferably –"

"I'll look into Mycroft's leaping lord."

Molly glanced at Mycroft, who'd kept his expression blank during their negotiation, then back at Sherlock. "Fine."

Sherlock finished the rest of his drink and set the mug down with a click. "Fine." He rose to his feet, took two more biscuits from the barrel, bit one in half and turned away, calling over his shoulder. "Laterz."

Molly's eyes widened when she suddenly realized what he'd said. She cupped her hands under Michael's bottom and quickly got up to follow Sherlock. "Wait a minute," she called, hurrying down the hall as he opened the front door. "Was that _ten_ lords a-leaping?"

Sherlock returned her wide grin as he pulled on his gloves. "Nope," he said, going out the door with a swirl of his coat. He leapt down the front steps and added as he turned around, walking backwards, "Just the one!"

Molly pushed the button to open the front gate and watched from the threshold as Sherlock strode down the drive. When she returned to the kitchen, she picked up her half-filled mug, raised an eyebrow at Mycroft, then crossed to the cooker for the last of the hot chocolate. Once she returned to her stool, she uncovered Michael's head, hitched him higher, and gently patted his back until he burped obligingly. She grinned at Mycroft, who was watching them with amused eyes, then offered Michael her other breast to see if he was still hungry. He rubbed his nose and cheek against her, then latched on and started sucking with enthusiasm.

"He's certainly hungry tonight," Mycroft observed thoughtfully.

"I think he's in a growth spurt," she said.

"It seems to me he's in a continual growth spurt," he said, getting up to put his and Sherlock's mugs in the sink. He checked the pot she'd used and put that in the sink as well when he saw it was empty, then leaned against the counter and crossed one ankle over the other. "How about an early night?"

Molly finished her drink, then got to her feet and met his eyes as she walked toward him. "That sounds good." She held the empty mug out and his fingers deliberately rubbed over hers as he took it. She felt her face slowly flush as their eyes held and she stepped closer, slid an arm around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest while being careful not to squash Michael. "Are you ready to go up?"

 _"_ _Hmm_ , why don't you get Michael settled while I lock up and have a quick shower," he murmured against the crown of her head. When she tilted her head back, he leaned down to kiss her, then straightened. "Do you want to get a bath?"

"A shower would be quicker," she said, smiling slowly.

"Quicker is good." He gave her another brief kiss, then turned her toward the door with a hand on her back. "Go on then."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Holmes, sir," she said, giving him a teasing side-glance as she left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

###

 _"…_ _piping, ten lords a-leaping, nine …,"_ Molly's singing faded away as Michael's mouth fell open and his eyelids stayed shut. She brought the rocker to a stop and rose to her feet, smiling when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She carried the baby to the cot, then smiled more broadly when Mycroft came to stand behind her and rested his hands on her hips. She bent to place Michael on his back and smooth the covers around him, then picked up the baby monitor.

Molly glanced up at Mycroft as they quietly shut the door behind them and crossed the hall to their bedroom. "I thought you were taking a shower."

"It seemed a waste of water not to wait for you," he said as he closed their door and leaned against it. He lifted a hand to smooth some hair off her forehead and silently studied her face before pulling her to him and dropping his head to her shoulder with a deep sigh.

When Mycroft started nuzzling her neck, Molly's breath caught and she slid her free hand around his back and pressed closer against him. "Your shower or mine?"

"Yours," he murmured against her throat. "It has more shower heads."

"Works for me," she murmured back, tilting her head to the side to give him better access. "What are we waiting for?" Mycroft abruptly straightened, and Molly squealed and clutched the baby monitor to her when he swung her into his arms and quickly strode across the room and through her dressing room door.

 _"_ _On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me …"_

… _not_ ten lords-a leaping, but Mycroft and Molly had no complaints.


End file.
